
GAR;S.W£/^mM, Pueusmer, h'IMYQMM'. 



licm^l 




DELSARTE 

RECITATION BOOK 



COMPILED AND ARRANGED BY 

ELSIE M. WILBOR 



Lli 




mri 



JFourtb EDltton* EnlargeD in a:ejt anD In HI lustrations 



EDGAR S. WERNER & COMPANY 

NEW YORK 



Copyright, 1889, 1893, 1905, by Edgar S. Werner 
A// Rights Reserved 



UBRARYot ' 


iOWGRESS 


Two Copieo 


Hec«iveej 


iAH 23 


1905 


CORY 3. 







NOTICE. 

The material in this book is either original, 
specially adapted, or used by special permission of 
author or publisher; is fully protected by copyright, 
and is for recitational purposes only. No repro- 
duction of it either in print or in writing will be 
permitted. Teachers wishing their pupils to use 
this book may get it at a reduction in quantities. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

A ' Aboot It. William Lyle 197 

Absolution. E. Neshit 72 

Anne Hathaway 100 

At the Sign of the Cleft Heart. Theodosia Garrison 432 

At the Tunnel's Mouth. Fred Lyster 12 

Auctioning off the Baby 117 

Au Revoir. Austin Dobson 310 

Baby's First Tooth 268 

B. B. Romance. Edgar Fawcett. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 246 

Bell of Innisfare 96 

Beryl's Happy Thought. Blanche Willis Howard. 446 

Biographical Sketch of Frangois Delsarte. Steele MacKaye. ... xi 

Bird Among the Blooms. Marion Short 359 

Boy's Bear Story. James Whitcomb Riley 455 

Boy's Conclusion 195 

Bread. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. Translated by 

Elsie M. Wilbor. Analysis by Genevieve Stebbins 214 

Brita's Wedding. Rev. W. W. Marsh 303 

Candor. H. C. Bunner 194 

Civil War. Translated by Lucy H. Hooper 265 

Cobra. Miller Hageman. Illustrated 129 

Conversational 153 

Coquette Conquered. Paul Laurence Dunbar 254 

Count Gismond. Robert Browning. 157 

Death of Crailey Gray. Booth Tarkington 414 

De Cushville Hop. Ben King 413 

Desolation. Tom Masson 325 

Discussion 150 

iii 



vi CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

Spanish Gypsy. George Eliot 327 

Star-Spangled Banner. Jessie F, O^Donnell 299 

Stanzas to Eternity. A favorite recitation of Delsarte's. 

Translated by Elsie M. Wilbor. Illustrated 70 

Stately Minuet. Hezekiah Butterworth. With music 292 

Story of Guggle. Thomas Speed 338 

Sue and Me. David Belasco 148 

-Sword Drill, ''Charge of the Light Brigade." Anna B. Webb. 

Illustrated 255 

Ten Robber Toes. Lillie E. Barr 67 

Thanksgiving Elopement. A"". S. Emerson 231 

Thanksgivin' Pumpkin Pies. Margaret E. Sangster 270 

Their Mother 309 

Tomb in Ghent. Adelaide Anne Procter 346 

Tragedy of Sedan. Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs 108 

Trumpeter's Betrothed. Translated by Lucy H. Hooper 162 

T'ward Arcadie. Egan Mew 314 

Virginian's Final Victory. Owen Wister. 418 

Voices of the Wildwood. Mrs. Ella Sterling Cummins. With 

music 64 

Volunteer Organist. S. W. Foss 241 

Way to Arcady. H. C. Bunner 369 

Wedding-Gown. Etta W. Pierce 353 

What Ailed the Pudding. Josephine Pollard 29 

What Was It? Sidney Dayre 357 

What William Henry 'Did. J. L. Harbour 380 

When Angry, Count a Hundred. E. Cavazza 391 

Why my Father Left the Army. Charles Lever, Arranged 

by John A . MacCabe 58 

Widow's Revenge. Frank R. Stockton 422 

Wife's Lament. Will H. Cadmus 178 

Wish-bone. Leon Mead, , 302 



INDEX TO AUTHORS. 



PAGE 

Alden, William L 275 

Ayres, Alfred 4 

Barber, Joseph 122 

Barr, Lillie E 67 

Bean, Helen Mar 251 

Belasco, David 148 

Browning, Mrs. Elizabeth Barrett 140 

Browning, Robert 157, 198 

BuNNER, H. C 120, 194, 360, 369 

Butterworth, Hezekiah. 292 

Byers, S. H. M 187 

Cadmus, Will H 178 

Caskin, Lida P 40 

Cavazza, E 391 

Cheney, John Vance p 260 

CoscARDEN, Eva 317 

Crawford, F. Marion 225 

CuMMiNSj Mrs. Ella Sterling 64 

Davis, Richard Harding 428 

Dayre, Sidney 357 

Diaz, Mrs. Abby Morton 285 

Dobson, Austin 310 

Dodge, Mrs. Mary Mapes 33 

Dow, Mrs. S. H 1 

Dunbar, Paul Laurence. 254 

Edwards, H. S 262 

Eliot, George 327 

Emerson, N. S. 231 

Fawcett, Edgar 246 

vii 



viii INDEX TO AUTHORS. 



PAGE 



Field, Eugene 10 

Foss, S. W * * 241 

Gale, Mrs. Martha T 38 

Garrison, Theodosia 432 

Gale, Mrs. Martha T 38 

Grant, Robert 181 

Hageman, Miller 129 

Harte, Bret 168 

Harbour, J. L 380 

Hooper, Mrs. Lucy H 162, 265 

Howard, Blanche Willis 446 

Johnson, H. H 191 

Jones, Julia Clinton 333 

Jones, Mrs. W. R 53 

Josephs, Lemuel B. C 41 

Kellogg, Anita M 15 

Kimball, Mather D ^ 272 

King, Ben 413 

Lessing, Gottlieb 18 

Lever, Charles 58, 244 

Lincoln, Joe 459 

Lipscomb, Mrs. M. A 78 

Lover, Samuel 153 

Ludlow, Helen W 118 

Lyle, William 197 

Lyster, Fred 12 

MacCabe, John A 58, 244 

McFadon, O. E 94, 95 

McGiLL, Eliza A 137 

MacKaye, Steele xi 

Mair, C 360 

Marsh, Rev. W. W 303 

Masson, Tom 325 

Mead, Leon 302 

Mew, Egan 314 

Montgomery, William H 136 

Moore, Monnie 49 

Murray, W. H. H 386 

Nesbit, E 72 

NoRRis, Adelaide 91 

O'DoNNELL, Jessie F 299 



INDEX TO AUTHORS. ix 



O'Reilly, John Boyle 377 

Parker, Gilbert 397 

Phillips, Henry Wallace 405 

Pierce, Etta W 353 

Pollard, Josephine 29 

Pratt, Florence E 176 

Pratt, Silas G 229 

Procter, Adelaide Anne 346 

Rae-Brown, Campbell 287 

Rhigas, Constantine 444 

Rice, Sara Sigourney 18 

Riley, James Whitcomb 455 

Robertson, Peter 240 

Rohlfs, Anna Katherine Green 108 

Rothwell, Annie 237 

Russell, Irwin 21 

Sangster, Mrs. Margaret E 270 

Schell, Stanley 372 

Sherwood, Mrs. John 280 

Short, Marion 359 

southwick, f. townsend 205 

Speed, Thomas 338 

Stebbins, Genevieve 3, 217 

Stockton, Frank R 422 

Story, W. W 24 

Stowe, Mrs. H. B 101 

Stuart, Ruth McEnery 440 

Tarkington, Booth 414 

Vandegrift, Margaret 167 

Von Boyle 219 

Webb, Anna B 255 

WiLBOR, Elsie M 24, 44, 70, 101, 140, 168, 181, 198, 214, 

225, 246, 275, 285, 302 

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler 379 

WiLKiNS, Mary E 317 

WiSTER, Owen 418 



xii FRAN go IS DELS ARTE. 

fainting in the snow [see page 71]. Reviving 'from the 
fit, his senses were suddenly entranced by a vision. Ex- 
quisite forms and colors floated before his eyes; a won- 
drous ecstasy filled his mind ; celestial music cried intohis 
ears and flooded his soul with harmonies which he after- 
ward said haunted him through life. There, prostrate on 
the earth, alone, helpless, and half dead, deserted by men, 
— thus did divine love seem to draw near to this rare 
soul ; heaven seemed to open before him, and its voices 
revived the artist-being in his shrunken frame. The 
mystic experience of that strange hour penetrated the 
inmost recesses of his soul, to fill him with a frantic but 
a divine passion for beauty and harmony of expression. 

When the boy awoke from that entrancing vision to 
the diabolic realities of the world, he beheld bending 
above him the grotesque figure of a chiffonier, who, in 
seeking rags, had found a treasure among men, whose 
value to the world the poor wretch little suspected. 
This rag-picker, touched by the forlorn condition of the 
dying child,« lifted his limp body from the rubbish, 
threw him in among the rags in his basket, and carried 
him to his den. Thus Delsarte, afterward publicly 
crowned by a monarch's hand, and called " the king of 
art," began his public career as a Parisian rag-picker! 

Two years passed, during which the little chiffonier 
wandered through the streets in search of rags and 
music. He gathered more songs than rags, however, 
and was lured away from the most promising pile of 
rubbish by every band of strolling minstrels. 

One summer afternoon in 1823 the band of the Na- 
tional Guard was discoursing airs in the garden of the 
Tuileries, and a poor, ragged boy sat on the ground 
near by, making strange signs in the sand. An eccen- 
tric old man, impressed by the youthful face, and puz- 
zled by the odd actions of the little beggar, watched 



FRANgOIS DELS ARTE, xiii 

him [see page ]. When the band ceased playing the 
old man spoke : 

"What are you doing there?" The boy drew back 
abashed and frightened. "Do not fear, my child," said 
the stranger, " I mean you no harm. Tell me the 
meaning of these signs in the sand. What have you 
been writing here ?" 

" Music," said the boy. 

" Music ? What do you mean by that, child ?" 

" I mean, monsieur, that I have written here the 
music of the soldiers." 

" Oh, you call these musical signs !" said the old man 
with an incredulous smile. 

"Yes, monsieur, they are signs of the song the band 
has just been playing." 

The old man looked sharply at the sand and said: " I 
am a musician, yet I cannot read these signs. Can 
you read them ?" 

" Oh, easily, indeed !" 

He began to suspect the sanity of the boy. " Let me 
hear you read them." 

The poor child, touched by this unexpected interest, 
sang, with childlike simplicity and naivete, the melodies 
he had written in the sand, pointing out, as he did so, 
the queer, original signs denoting the musical sounds. 

"Who taught you these extraordinary signs?" asked 
the old man in amazement. 

" No one." 

" How did you learn them ?" 

" Oh, monsieur, I dared to imagine them myself." 

The undeveloped genius of this child, not yet twelve 
years of age, had responded to his burning passion for 
music, enabling him to devise an entirely new, though 
rough and imperfect, method of musical notation. 

Thanks to his genius, his prospects in life were sud- 



XIV FRAN go IS DELS ARTE. 

denly changed; and the boy who had entered the park 
a forlorn rag-picker, left it to become the adopted son 
of one of the most benevolent and remarkable musical 
men of that day, Pere Bambini. In less than two years 
Delsarte was admitted to the Conservatoire. At eigh- 
teen he had a leading position upon the operatic boards 
of Paris. Whe.n he was twenty-one he had made quite 
a fortune, and had married the daughter of the di- 
rector of the Grand Opera House. 

When Delsarte had been a year at the Conservatoire, 
Pere Bambini died. He was left in great poverty, and 
was obliged to go through the streets in a costume 
which ranked him among the lower classes. He was 
determined to get upon the stage. He had studied the 
leading roles in opera, and persistently applied at the 
Grand Opera House for an opportunity to be heard. 
His persistence became a nuisance to the ogre in charge 
of the stage-door. He reported it to the director of the 
opera, who said: ^' Leave the fellow to me. I will teach 
him a lesson. The next time he applies show him to 
my room." The next time happened to be during the 
performance of an opera. He was shown to the direc- 
tor, a very stern, business-like man, who hated what he 
called artistic tramps, and regarded Delsarte as one of 
them. He saw the pitiable condition in which the man 
was clothed. He said : " What do you want T 

*^ I want an opportunity to be heard. I seek a posi- 
tion, and I should be glad to take any position which 
your estimate of my merits may think proper." 

"Oh, you wish to be heard? AH right. Are you 
ready to be heard now, at once ?" 

** Certainly, monsieur, at any time. I shall be only 
too glad and too grateful to be heard." 

** Very well, wait here. I will let you know when I 
am ready." He went below and said to the curtain- 



FRANCOIS DELS ARTE. xv 

man: " When the curtain drops on the next act run on 
two flats in front, put on the piano, and let me know 
when you are ready." 

When this was done he sent for Delsarte, and said : 

" Do you see that piano there, in front of those flats? 
You wish-to be heard, you say. Have you the courage 
to go on there and show me before this public what 
you can do ?" 

The director little dreamed of the unconquerable 
courage in that noble heart, or he never would have 
dared to propose such a thing to this youth. Delsarte's 
first impulse was one of indignation. But this was suc- 
ceeded by a sense of the fact that his future depended 
upon the grit which he showed at that moment, and 
turning, he said: "Yes, monsieur. You ask of me 
something that has never been asked before ; if I can- 
not succeed with my public I have nothing to ask of 
you." 

The curtain was rung up, and Delsarte in seedy clothes 
and with his stockings showing through the holes in his 
shoes, walked on. At first the people were puzzled, 
then amused, and saluted him with jeers and laughter. 
He turned and made a bow to them so princely and 
noble, that they were obliged to recognize the royalty 
of his soul. He passed to the piano, ran his fingers 
over it, and began to sing a song that held them spell- 
bound. When he. had finished, he was greeted with 
thrilling cheers from every part of the house. He was 
recalled again and again, and when at last he went be- 
hind the scenes it was to be greeted by the director 
with a contract for three years at looo francs a month. 

After a few years of marvelous success, and when his 
artistic prospects were extraordinary, he lost his voice 
entirely for one year. He was obliged to abandon his 
career upon the stage, and forced to earn his living as a 



xvi FRANCO IS DELS ARTE. 

private teacher instead of as a public performer. It was 
this calamity, or what appeared as such at that time, 
which led Delsarte to his grand and noble career; for it 
induced him to search after a natural and scientific 
basis for art, which eventually made him the greatest 
master of expression. 

Delsarte became convinced that his loss of voice was 
owing to the pernicious methods of vocal training then 
in vogue at the Conservatoire. He had discovered by 
experience there that art was taught empirically and 
perniciously. He felt that there existed in nature a 
certain philosophy, a certain net-work of laws, which 
alone could decide what was right and what was wrong, 
and he determined to devote his life to the discovery of 
those laws. 

He did so, and acquired a reputation so great that he 
attracted many pupils. Rachel, Duprez, Pere Hyacinth, 
and many more of the greatest artists of France, serve 
as the best illustrations of his masterly method. Soon 
kings and princes, artists and authors, sculptors and 
singers, came to him. He was called the greatest of 
orators, and declared the monarch of art: 

^* This master possesses a method so perfect^ a style so pure ^ 

a passion so profoundy that there is none in all art so noble or 

divine'' 

STEELE MACK A YE. 



Delsarte Recitation Book. 



THE HUNDRED LOUIS D'OR. 

Translated by Mrs. Sabrina H. Dow. 



[Mme. Arnaud, in her charming reminiscences of Delsarte, mentions 
particularly the reciting of the "Hundred Louis d'Or," by Darcier, one 
of the most distinguished pupils of the master, and says that it attracted 
great attention. The selection is a typical French one, even to the odd 
little anticlimax bringing in the, to the French, all-important dowry of 
the bride. — Editor.] 

NE evening, under the poplars' shade, 

Along the shore of the river dark, 

Near the mill where dwelt my miller 

maid. 

There strode a tall man, stalwart 

and stark. 

His mustache was gray, his mantle 

blue, 

A queer, round hat half hid his 

face; 

So strange he looked as near he drew — 

**Tis the Devil," I said, ''or the Lord, by his grace." 

Then his voice like trumpet of brass rang out 

Through the still air, as he said to me: 

** Follow me to the forest, nor doubt 

A hundred louis I'll give to thee.'* 

And his wizard eye, with fateful charm, 

Drew me, helpless ; I could not recede; 
On, on to the wood, for good or harm, 

I went, nor thought of the promised meed. 




When the astonishment or the surprise is not intense enough to shake the 
frante^ the head^ wherein all the surprise is co7tcentrated^ is lifted and ex- 
alted, — Delsarte. 



2 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

He seemed not to run, though swift as deer 
Was his course, and I, with fright overcome 

And fevVish burning, thought death was near. 
To restore me, in that brazen tone, 

Icy cold, he shouted once more: 

** To the depths of the wood but follow on 

And ril give thee a hundred louis d'or/* 

Into the thick of the wood we came; 

The night to Stygian darkness fell. 
Upward each green tree shot a green flame; 

I knew by the din *twas the gate to hell. 
Then suddenly changed, his body bare, 

Stood my sorcerer. " Ho !" I said 
To myself, as his eyes glittered red^ 

"The Devil, no doubt, for I can tell 
By his horned front, and tail, as well." 

He showed me then an open book, 
With empty pages, and bade me look. 

While he asked, his harsh voice somewhat lower, 
"Would you gain a hundred louis d'or? 

" Then swear by your soul, swear by your life, . 

Swear by the Devil and by the Lord, 
Never to take to your arms a wife. 

Neither from hamlet, nor farm, nor town, 
Until your fortieth year has flown. 

Let the world see you, day after day, 
Your soul ne'er held to a single one. 

Flitting from folly to folly alway, 
Like a gay butterfly under the sun.'* 

The page turned crimson beneath his claWj 
While his brassy voice resounded cold: ^ 



Under the influence of passion^ the voice rises with a Brilliancy corre- 
sponding in proportion to the magnitude of the thing it would express^ and 
becotnes lowered to express sinallness or meanness, — Delsakte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" Sign here and a hundred louis d*or 
ril give to thee in ringing gold." ^ 

Instead of signing upon the place 

The Devil marked with his bloody grip, 
" 'Tv^ere better," I thought, " a cross to trace," 

Which I did, a prayer upon my lip. 
At this, his Majesty fled in smoke; 

And quickly I was transported again 
To the mill-chamber, and my dear maid, 

Oh, never so dear to me as then. 
*^ See here," she said, " I give all to thee — 

My heart, my mill, my treasure-store." 
Then in copper sous she gave to me, 

In all, a hundred louis d'or ! 



SUGGESTIVE ANALYSIS. 
Genevieve Stebbins. 

I should advise no one who has not acquired the dy- 
namic voice — a voice with moving power back of it — to 
attempt this selection. The strongest use of psychic 
vision, a vivid imagination, is here necessary; to make 
an audience see and feel, the reciter himself must first 
be impressed with the reality of the scene. The con- 
trast between the mystic voice of the narrator and 
the brazen resonance of that of the demon must be 
brought out, but not too abruptly. Horror combined 
with fascination should be expressed in the voice when 
the real character of the fiend is revealed; the man is 
tempted, and the struggle must be shown. The thought 
of the cross suggests the prayer, and the voice should 
express appeal, and then peace and calm. The maiden's 
voice should be that of love and tenderness. 

In the first stanza, the action is outward, the gestures 
descriptive; the Devil beckons the man to follow. 



Oratorical art is the means of expressing the emotions of the soul by the 
play of the organs. It is the sum total of rules and laws resulting from the 
reciprocal action of mind and body. — Delaumosne. 



^ 



4 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

In the second stanza, the action is that of following, 
with raised hands, bent knees, and eyes opened wide, as 
if charmed; the Devil turns his head over his shoulder 
to shout his temptation. 

In the third stanza, the man sees each horror he de- 
scribes, and shudders and recoils from it; but at the 
vision of the fiend revealed, he stands paralyzed with 
fear, arms thrown up over the head, knees bent and 
trembling, chest sunken. The Devil's action should 
be the opposite: bold and commanding, but the face 
concentrated with hate and the eyes pinched. When the 
sign of the cross is made, the attitude becomes one of 
exaltation, and the action and expression should be of 
calm and love. 



OH, SIR! 



Translated and Adapted by Alfred Ayres. 



A YOUNG girl of sixteen, lithe, fair, and fresh, who 
has just laid aside her convent gown, and bidden 
good-by to her convent chums, is now at home and to 
remain. 

Alone in the drawing-room, the door of which is 
closed, with an air in w^hich there's something of rev- 
erie, yet more of vanity, she contemplates the effect of 
her transformation from school-girl to demoiselle. 

She runs her tapVing fingers through her curls, con- 
fines a refractory end of lace, gives a toss to her shapely 
head, and smiles. With sweet self she is content. 

Suddenly the door is opened. She crimsons to the 
eyes thus to be surprised, surrounded on three sides 
as she is by Venetian mirrors. 

*^Ah, it's you, mamma!" she cries, and hastens to 
throw her arms around her mother's neck. These little 

4-—— •^ 

The shoulder^ in every man who is agitated or moved ^ rises in exact propor- 
tion to the intensity of his emotion.— Delsarte, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 5 

ways in daughters are ever pleasing to mammas. This 
mamma is most indulgent, still young, a widow, and a 
baroness. 

" Daughter, dear, whence comes this emotion ? You 
need have no fears I shall reproach you." 

" But, mamma, I have great fears." 

" Fears ? You ? — of what ?" 

" Of everything, mamma, of everything !" 

"Of everything? That's vague." 

** Of the world, mamma. For at the convent they 
told us of the world so much that's bad. They painted 
it in such colors that I shudder when I recall them. 
They haunt me often in my dreams. Yesterday I was 
but a school-girl; to-day I am a demoiselle. Childlike 
prattle no longer becomes me; now, all must be studied, 
dignified, imposing. Why, mamma, I am timid, ill at 
ease even with my cousin Charles, a simple student. 
Suppose a young man, a stranger, were to speak to me — 
what should my answer be ? Should it be always * Yes T " 

" Not for the world, my daughter !" 

"Well, then, I'll answer, ^ No ! ^ " 

"That, too, is seldom prudent." 

"But, mamma — " 

"*No* and ^yes' from maiden lips have oft been 
known to compromise." • 

"What shall I answer, then?" 

" A word that says nothing. ^ Oh, sir ! ' for example. 
Of ^Oh, sir!' can come no harm; and said in fitting 
tone, * Oh, sir ! ' does very well. ^ Oh, sir ! ' now in this 
tone, * Oh, sir ! ' now in that, with a graceful salutation 
— how many in high places are puzzled to answer 
more !" 



The theories of Delsarte^far from hampering the free expansion ofart^ do 
but enlarge its horizon^ and prepare a broader feid for its harmonies. 

— Arnaud. 



-V- 



6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

*^ Thank you, mamma. I'm already reassured. I 
shall answer always ^ Oh, sir ! ' with studious care." 

And now the baroness withdraws, as to herself she 
says: " From these two words there's surely naught to 
fear." 

A few minutes have elapsed, when again the door is 
opened. A footman, who, thinking the baroness still in 
the drawing-room, with a wooden mien and in sonorous 
tones announces: "Viscount Albert de Monsablon." 
The viscount is charming: in bearing, all he should be 
— young, tall, graceful, a very man of fashion. On see- 
ing Bertha alone, her big, blue eyes timidly cast down, 
for a moment he puts on the air of one embarrassed, 
though in truth the traitor is delighted with the mis- 
adventure. 

** Miss Bertha! in Paris! Accident provides for me 
a charming surprise. With the convent now you're 
done forever, let us hope. Now the paternal fireside 
will be light and bright as ne'er before. May I be per- 
mitted to share its warmth ?" 

"Oh, sir!" 

" I stood before you last autumn dumb with amaze- 
ment. You had grown so stately, so beautiful — " 

" Oh, sir !" 

" How stupid I did appear •!" 

" Oh, sir !" 

" But that should not surprise you. When last I had 
seen you, you were deeply absorbed in robing in satin 
a pair of Christmas doll-babies. Now, you will dress 
^<?//-babies no more." 

" Oh, sir !" 

"What a long way off are those days now! Now 



The arm should move gently toward the object it wishes to caress. Under 
I ject. 



I the rapid action of surprise^ therefore^ it could only injure or repel that ob- 
t. — Delsarte. 



der I 

:1 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 7 

your dolls lie neglected in odd corners. You have other 
pastimes, other joys. Do you like to dance?** 

"Oh, sir !'* 

"Nothing more natural. You are at that age when 
balls possess their greatest charm. For a month one 
dreams of one's attire. At first, of a flounce or two of 
airy tulle or of a cloud of discreet gauze. Then, of a 
rose, coquette, fast knotted in the hair; of pearls in 
graceful coils; of an aigret of sparkling gems; of neck- 
laces of rubies, sapphires, diamonds — " 

"Oh, sir!'* 

" When you are older, you will have a husband to 
provide you with Jewels. It is a privilege that custom 
accords us men. But now you are so young I" 

"Oh, sir!" 

"It was just at this season that we played together 
under the park trees. Do you remember?'* 

" Oh, sir !" 

" I see you now — such a little thing ! — your luxuriant 
curls too heavy for their silken netting — running here 
and there under the big trees, ankle-deep in the daisies 
and buttercups. And then we played at mimic wan 
Your big brother organized the combats. He was the 
general, we the soldiers.'* 

"Oh, sir!" 

" What happy days were those — days of joy, of rap- 
ture; of projects wild, of vows half foolish ! Even now 
my heart leaps as I recall them !" 

" Oh, sir !" 

" Will they ever have a morrow ? Are they not to you 
a memory, vague, uncertain, intangible, like a phantasm 
seen by moonlight in some deserted churchyard ?'* 

A ^ * 

j There are three /orms o/ expression by which man outwardly reveals his 
inward experiences. The first is pantomimic; the second is vocal: the last 
is verbal, — Steele Mackaye. 



8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

^^Oh, sir!" 

" But how I hope you'll comprehend me, as I stand 
before you, gazing in your eyes, when in my rapturous 
delirium I tell you — I am most unhappy !" 

" Oh, sir !" 

" You are kind, you are good. I see it in your eyes. 
You pity me. Yet my distress surprises you.'' 

'' Oh, sir !" 

" Do I see aright, or is't a dream ? I do see aright; 
you do comprehend me ! Ah, it's in bliss like this 
that one might wish to die !" 

" Oh, sir !" 

"Ah, heaven, for me, opens wide its gates! All is 
joyous in my heart; there, all is melody — the melody of 
the spheres! Bear with me; I thought myself far 
stronger. Your accents fill my soul with bliss ecstatic. 
Speak I must, else I perish. Bertha, will you be mine, 
forever mine ?" 

" Oh, sir !'' 

" I know I follow not the form; but could I wait a 
little week ? — could I wait e'en till to-morrow ? I ask but 
only you !" 

" Oh, sir !" 

" Will you love me as I love you ? No, no, that were 
too much; but I await my doom. Bertha, will you love 
me just a little ?" 

" Oh, sir !" 

At this juncture, wide open swings the parlor-door, 
and with an austere mien the baroness appears upon 
the scene. 

" Ah, madame, you see in me a man beside himself 
with joy ! Give me Bertha !" 



Under the influence of sentiment, the smallest and most insignificant things 
that we may wish to represent proportion themselves to the degree of acuteness 
of the sounds^ which become softened in proportion as they rise.— Delsartk. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 9 

" Heh ! What do I hear r 

" I love her, and — '* 

** Sir ! sir ! not before her !" 

" But she loves me too !" 

^*What!" 

" Mamma, dear, don't be cruel !" 

" Bertha, have you — " 

" No, mamma, no ! I've followed your instructions to 
the letter; and I will follow them always, I promise you. 
But it's very strange; I hardly dare to think of it. To 
say that one loves, two words suffice. Indeed, I begin 
to think, mamma, that even fewer than two would 
suffice !" 



HER ANSWER. 



" \/OUNG man proposed to me last night." 

'' You can't mean that ?" " Indeed, it's true; 
Asked me to be his wife outright." 

" Good gracious, dear ! What did you do ?" 

" Poor boy ! He looked so handsome, Nell." 
*^ Handsome ! A clerk on weekly pay 

Asks you — a beauty and a belle ! 
But tell me what he dared to say.'* 

" Well— first, he loved me !" " Oh, that part 

Of course ! What else ?" " And that he thought 

I was the sort of girl whose heart 
Would never let itself be bought. 

" He said he was a man — that I 
Was just a woman, equal so 

4 

A Perfect reproduction of the outer manifestation of some passion^ the 
giving of the outer sign^ will cause a reflex feeling withifi.-^QK^B.viKWK 
Stebbins. 



10 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

In youth, health, brain we stood, and— why, 
You'd think he never dreamed of no. 

" That he was poor need be no bar — " 
" Well ! what an attitude to take !" 

" For love would prove the guiding star 
To fame and fortune, for my sake. 

" And then he begged my heart and hand.*' 
" Such impudence ! who'd ever guess ? — 

I hope you made him understand 
His place ?'' " I did— I told him ' Yes ! ' " 



A DUTCH LULLABY. 



Eugene Field. 



AITYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe; 
Sailed on a river of misty light 

Into a sea of dew. 
** Where are you going, and what do you wish ?** 

The old moon asked the three. 
" We have come to fish for the herring fish 
That live in this beautiful sea; 
Nets of silver and gold have we," 
Said Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 



Given a rising form^ such as the ascending scale^ there will be intensitive 
progression when this /or tn should express passion {whether impulse ^ excite- 
ment^ or vehemence). There will be^ on the other hand^ a diminution of in- 
tensity where this same form should express sentiment. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, \i 

The old moon laughed and sang a song 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe, 
And the wind that sped them all night long 

Ruffled the waves of dew. 
The little stars were the herring fish 

That lived in the beautiful sea; 
*^ Now cast your nets wherever you wish, 
But never a-feared are we/' 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three, 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

All night long their nets they threw 
For the fish in the twinkling foam; 
Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe. 

Bringing the fishermen home; 
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed 

As if it could not be; 
And some folk thought ^twas a dream they dreamed, 
Of sailing that beautiful sea; 
But I shall name you the fishermen three — 
Wynken, 
Blynken, 
And Nod. 

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head; 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 
So shut your eyes while mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be. 



Certain attitudes^ by extending or contracting the muscles^ by compelling 
the breath to come and go more rapidly ^ by increasing the heart-beatSy cause 
physical interior sensations which are the correspondences o/ emotion. — Gen- 
evieve Stebbins. 



12 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock on the misty sea, 
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, 

Wynken, 

Blynken, 

And Nod. 



AT THE TUNNEL^S MOUTH. 



Fred Lyster. 



TT^TE was workin' at the tunnel's mouth, 

Joe, Bob, and Jim, and I, 
A-pilin' up the blocks of stone, 

A-pilin' of 'em high. 
For the frost had been tremenjous hard. 

An' the facing had given away, 
An' we was workin' with a will 

To fix up all that day. 

For next day would be Sunday, 

An' jist a year agone 
Jim an' my sister Mary 

Had turned two into one. 
An' then, last Wednesday was a week, 

A baby Jim was born. 
An' he a Christian should be made 

Upon Jim's weddin' morn. 

So Jim, old Jim, had axed his mates- 
Joe, Bob, and Bill — that's me — 



Sentiment and passion proceed in an inverse way. Passion strengthens the 
voice in proportion as it rises ^ and sentiment y on the contrary^ so/tens it in due 
ratio to its intensity. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 13 

To stand by while the job was done, 

An' wind up witli a spree — 
A modest one, a glass or tw^o, 

A pipe, a yarn, a song, 
Jist to cheer the young un's entrance 

In this here world of sin an' wrong, 

As some folks calls it, — though I thinks 

We make ourselves the curse, 
And, as the proverb says, ^^ we might 

Go farther an' fare worse." 
Jim, he was Butty o' the gang, 

An' up or down the line 
A finer fellow never stepped, 

No, nor yet half so fine. 

He'd share his last crust with a friend; 

And as for child or wife — 
Why, there ain't no use a-talkin' — 

He'd jist lay down his life 
For one sweet smile from Mary, 

Or a kiss from Baby Jim, 
Or a good square hug from either, — 

*Twas all the same to him. 

Well, w^e kep' chattin' o' the fun 

WeM have to-morrow's day. 
An' layin' out what songs we'd sing 

An' what fine games we'd play, 
When, jist as we had hysted up 

The last block on the bank. 
It pitched aw^ay, and thundered down 

The steep an' slipp'ry plank; 

4. . 

I The full ^ vital restirrection of the rege7ierated cesthetic man ^nust be Pre- 
ceded by the unifying or blending of his inheritances from objective nature^ 
and of his mentad^ subjective acquirements. — Franklin H. Sargent. 



14 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

An* there upon the line it lay, 

Right slap acrost the rail. 
What sound is that as makes us start, 

An' tremble, an' turn pale ? 
A stifled shriek — a louder — 

A rumbling deep an' low. 
'Tis the *^ Flying Dutchman's" signal: 

She's in the tunnel now ! 

An' there upon the line — the stone, 

Full in our awestruck view. 
An' in another minute now 

The lightning-train is due. 
Jim stopped for neither look nor word; 

With face stern set an' pale, 
An' steadfast eyes, he made no move. 

But leaped down on the rail. 

He seized the massy block of stone, 

An' shoved it clear aside; 
But, e'er his feet he could regain, 

Came, with remorseless glide, 
The murd'rous engine, an' we heard 

One heart-appalling scream.. 
We saw a ghastly face turn up 

Through mists of hissing steam! 

An' seven hundred souls was saved; 

But Jim had given his life 
As ransom for them all. No thought 

Of child, nor friend, nor wife; 
But, seeing what there was to do, 

He did it — there an end. 



We move anuay front the thing which we contemplate^ to prove to ity doubt- 
I lessy the respect and veneration that it inspires.— 'Dki.skrtr, " 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 15 

No; Fm not cryin', mate, although 
If you had lost a friend 

So kind, so honest, an' so true 

As dear old Jim, no fear. 
No blame, if you should feel 

Sometimes a trifle queer 
About the eyes, an' if your heart 

Against your ribs should thump. 
An' in your throat should sometimes rise 

A nasty, choking lump. 

But with no pride or pomp of rank, 

Nor hope of laurel wreath. 
He leaped from off that grassy bank 

Into the jaws of death. 



MOLLY. 



Anita M. Kellogg. 



All r HEN folks grow old I wonder why 

They seem to forget their youth gone by, 
And whatever we do are so prone to say, 
"It wasn't so in my young day!" 
I think it's hard I should be chid 
For things I'm sure my parents did. 
For how did my father get him a wife, 
If he never went courting in his life ? 



Always retain a gesture as long as the same thought or emotion is retained^ 
or as long as you remain in the same mood.— Geukvieve Stebbins. 



l6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And how did my mother know it, pray, 
If she didn't listen when he said his say? 
Now, they forget all this, and I 
Must do my courting on the sly. 
Whenever they see me, by night or day, 
Walking and talking — you know the way, — 
One or the other always calls me. 
But listen, — this is what befalls me. 

Every morning at early dawn. 

When the dew shines bright on field and lawn, 

And the birds are singing sweet and clear, 

I must drive the cows to the pasture near. 

Now, as it happens, quite frequently, 

Robin More by the bars will be; 

But if I stop ta say, *^ Good-morrow!" 

I am reminded to my sorrow. 

A voice rings out on the morning air: 

\Calling?^ 
'' Molly! Molly! don't idle there! 
There's work to do, and you have your share!** 

Down by the wood is a mossy stile — 
The nicest place to chat awhile; 
But sure's I sit there with Robin More, 
A voice is heard from our kitchen door 

\Calling ^ 
"Molly! Molly! see those cows!" 
I look around, and there they browse: 
Dapple, Peachblow, Bose and Rover, 
Knee-deep in the rich, red clover. 



A salutation without moving shows but little reverence^ and should only 
occur in the case of an equal or an inferior. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 17 

Whisking their tails impatiently, 
As that shrill voice floats out to me: 

\^CallingS\ 

"Molly! Molly! Where are you ? 
Don't you know there's work to do ? 
Molly! Molly! Drive those cows 
Down into the milking-shed!" 

At twilight, when the quiet air 

Is trembling with the sheen of stars, 

I sometimes meet with Robin there, 

And he lets down the bars. 

Then, should we linger side by side, 

Or stroll along the dusky lane, 

Through the tender hush of the even-tide, 

That voice rings out again: 

{Calling.'] 

" Molly ! Molly ! Come right in ! 
You're twice as long as you should have been; 
The cows are straying, — close that gate ! 
Don't mind Robin, — he can wait." 

Now, Robin loves me, this I know; 

But he doesn't get a chance to tell me so ! 

He looks it, and acts it, and once, last night. 

As we sat on the porch in the soft starlight. 

He took my hand and held it tight; 

But just as he opened his mouth to speak, 

(For the thousandth time within this week,) 

We heard that voice in the self-same shriek: 



There should be iut one strong climax in a perfect work of art. The artist 
should work steadily toward that climax.— Moses True Brown. 



-4 



r8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

[Calling.'] 
^' Molly ! The cows are in the clover ! 
Go right down and drive them over, 
Be quick about it. Don't you wait, — 
Just let Robin fasten that gate !" 

It's always so, and if old folks have their way 
I never shall know to my dying day 
What it was Robin was about to say. 



THE OPAL RING. 



Gottlieb Lessing. Arranged by Sara S. Rice. 



[This sketch is in regard to the true religion. Nathan says, " I am 
a Jew," and Saladin, *' I am a Mussulman," and between them is the 
Christian. But one of these religions is true ; which one is it ? Na- 
than, not wishing to make a direct reply, relates the following story.] 

T N gray antiquity there lived a man 

In Eastern lands, who had received a ring 
Of priceless worth from a beloved hand. 
Its stone, an opal, flashed a hundred colors, 
And had the secret power of giving favor. 
In sight of God and man, to him w^ho wore it 
With a believing heart. What wonder, then. 
This Eastern man would never put the ring 
From off his finger, and should so provide 
That to his house it should be preserved forever? 
Such was the case. Unto the best beloved 
Among his sons he left the ring, enjoining 



The profound obscurity into ivhich light plunges us does not prevent the light 
from being: and the chaos of ideas which, most generally, results frotn our 
exam.ination of things, proves nothing against the harmonies of their consti- 
tution. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 19 

That he, in turn, bequeath it to the son 

Who should be dearest ; and the dearest ever, 

In virtue of the ring, without regard 

To birth, be of the house the prince and head. 

From son to son the ring, descending, came 

To one, the sire of three ; of whom all three 

Were equally obedient ; whom all three 

He, therefore, must with equal love regard. 

And yet, from time to time, now this, now that, 

And now the third, as each alone, by 

The others not dividing his fond heart. 

Appears to him the worthiest of the ring ; 

Which, then, with loving weakness he would promise 

To each in turn. Thus it continued long. 

But he must die ; and the loving father 

Was sore perplexed. It grieved him thus to wound 

The faithful sons who trusted in his word. 

But v/hat to do ? In secrecy he calls 

An artist to him, and commands of him 

Two other rings, the pattern of his own ; 

And bids him neither cost nor pains to spare 

To make them alike, precisely like to his. 

The artist's skill succeeds. He brings the rings. 

And e'en the father cannot tell his own. 

Relieved and joyful, summons he his sons, • 

Each by himself ; to each one by himself 

He gives his blessing and his ring — and dies. 

The father was scarce dead, when each brings forth his 

ring. 
And claims the headship. Questioning ensues, 



In proportion to the depth and majesty of the eviction is the deliberation 
and sioivness of the fnotio7i \ and^ vice versa ^ in proportion to the superficial- 
ity and explosiveness of the emotion^ will be the velocity of its expression in 
motion. — Genevieve Stebbins. 

. ^ ^ — 4, 



20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Strife and appeals to law, but all in vain ; 
The genuine ring was not to be distinguished. 
The sons appealed to law, and each took oath 
Before the judge that from his father's hand 
He had the ring, — as was indeed the case. 
His father could not have been false to him, 
Each one maintained ; and ratlier than allow 
Upon the name of so dear a father 
Such stain to rest, he must against his brothers 
(Though gladly he would nothing but the best 
Believe of them) bring charge of treachery ; 
Means he would find the traitors to expose, 
And be revenged on them. 

Thus spoke the judge : " Produce your father 

At once before me, else from my tribunal 

Do I dismiss you. Think you I am here 

To guess riddles? Either would you wait 

Until the genuine ring shall speak ? But hold! 

A magic power in the true ring resides, 

As 1 am told, to make its wearer loved. 

Pleasing to God, to man. Let that decide. 

Which one among you, then, do two love best? 

Speak ! Are you silent ? Work the rings but backward, 

Not outward ? Loves each one himself the best ? 

Then cheated cheats are all of you ! The rings 

All are false. The genuine ring was lost, 

And to conceal, supply, the loss, the father 

Made three in place of one. 

" Go, therefore," said the judge, " unless my counsel 
You'd have in place of sentence. It were this : 
Accept the case exactly as it stands. 



Caressing^ tender^ a7id gentle emotions find their normal expression in high 
notes, — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 21 

Each had his ring directly from his father ; 
Let each believe his own is genuine. 
'Tis possible your father would no longer 
His house to one ring's tyranny subject ; 
And certain that all three of you he loved, 
Loved equally, since two he would not humble 
That one might be exalted. Let each one 
To his unbought, impartial love aspire ; 
Each with the others vie to bring to light 
The virtue of the stone within the ring ; 
Let gentleness, a hearty love of peace, 
Beneficence, and perfect trust in God, 
Come to its help. Then, if the jewel's power 
Among your children's children be revealed, 
I bid you in a thousand thousand years 
Again before this bar. A wiser man than I 
Shall occupy this seat and speak. 
Go!" Thus the modest judge dismissed them. 



THE FIRST BANJO. 



Irwin Russell. 



r^ O way, fiddle! folks is tired o* hearin' you a-squeak- 

in', 
Keep silence fur yo' betters — don't you heah de banjo 

speakin' ? 
About de 'possum's tail she's gwine to lecter — ladies, 

listen ! 
About de ha'r whut isn't dar, an* why de ha'r is missin'. 



yust in proportion to our insight and apprehension of all truth do we attain 
to a comprehension of a particular truth.— Mrs, Frank Stuart Parker. 



22: DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

*^Dar's gwine to be a oberflow," said Noah, lookin' 
solemn — 

For Noah tuk de " Herald," an' he read de ribber col- 
umn — 
An' so he sot his hands to work a-cl'arin' timber-patches. 
An' 'lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steameh 
"Natchez." 

or Noah kep' a-nailin', an' a-chippin', an' a-sawin' ; 
An' all de wicked neighbors kep' a-laughin' an' a- 

pshawin' ; 
But Noah didn't min' 'em — knowin' whut wuz gwine to 

happen ; 
An' forty days an' forty nights de rain it kep' a-drap- 

pin'. 

Now, Noah had done cotched a lot ob eb'ry sort o' 

beas'es, 
Ob all de shows a-trabbelin', it beat 'em all to pieces ! 
He had a Morgan colt, an' seb'ral head o' Jarsey cattle, 
An' druv 'em 'board de Ark as soon's he heered de 

thunder rattle. 

De Ark she kep' a-sailin', an' a-sailin', an' a-sailin' ; 
De lion got his dander up, an' like to bruk de palin' ; 
De sarpints hissed, de painters yelled — tell, whut wid 

all de fussin', 
You c'u'dn't hardly heah de mate a-bossin' 'roun' an' 

cussin'. 

Now, Ham, de only nigger whut wuz runnin' on de 

packet. 
Got lonesome in de barber-shop, an' couldn't stan' de 

racket ; 



The voice decreases in intensity in p7'oportion as it rises higher; and, on the 
other hand^ it increasesin intensity inproJ>ortion as it sinks iower. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 23 

An' so, for to amuse he-se'f, he steamed some wood an' 
bent it, 

An' soon he had a banjo made — de fust dat wuz in- 
vented. 

He wet de ledder, stretched it on ; made bridge, an' 

screws, an' apron ; 
An' fitted in a proper neck — 'twuz berry long an' ta- 

p'rin' ; 
He tuk some tin, an' twisted him a thimble fur to ring 

it ; 
An' den de mighty question riz, how wuz he gwine to 

string it ? 

De 'possum had as fine a tail as dis dat I's a-singin' ; 
De ha'rs so long, an' thick, an' strong, — des fit for banjo- 

stringin' ; 
Dat nigger shaved 'em off as short as wash-day-dinner 

graces ; 
An' sorted ob 'em by de size, from little E's to basses. 

He strung her, tuned her, struck a jig — 'twuz ^^ Nebber 

min' de Wedder" — 
She soun' like forty-lebben bands a-playin' all togedder ; 
Some went to pattin', some to dancin' ; Noah called de 

figgers— 
An' Ham he sot an' knocked de tune, de happiest ob 

niggers ! 

Now, sence dat time — it's mighty strange^dere's not 

de slightes' showin' 
Ob any ha'r at all upon de 'possum's tail a-growin'. 



The walk is temperamental^ as much an indicator of the habits^ character^ 
and emotions as is the voice. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



24 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE GOVERNMENT SPY. 



W. W. Story. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



'T'AKE a cigar — draw up your chair, 

■^ There's at least a good half-hour to spare. 
And now, as that friend of yours has gone, 
There's a word I must whisper to you, alone. 
That fellow's only a Government Spy ! 
Of course you're surprised — there's nothing on earth 
So base in your eyes as a Government Spy ; 
But listen. I'll spin a yarn for you. 
And every thread of it's simply true. 

'Tis years ago I knew Giannone, 

A capital fellow with great black eyes, 

And a pleasant smile of frank surprise, 

And as gentle a pace as a lady's pony. 

Giannone had but an empty head — 

But then the worst of him is said : 

A better heart, or a readier hand, 

You never would see in our English land. 

Well, it happened that Hycombe Wycombe Brown, 

Of the Sussex Wycombes, a man about town, 

Was owing Giannone a kind of debt 

For buying some horses, or some such work. 

He sent him a card of defiance one day 

To meet him at point of the knife — and fork, 

And settle the matter without delay. 

Giannone accepted, of course, and then, 

He invited a few of us resident men ; 



Nature^ by a thousand irrefutable examples^ prescribes a decrease of inten- 
sity {in music decrescen^io) proportionate to the ascensional force of the sounds. 
— Delsarte. 




Wake! For the Sun, who scattered into flight 
The Stars before him from the Field of Night, 
Drives Night along with them from Heaven. 




^'Mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore/* 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 25 

And among them, slim and sleek and sly, 

Was your pious friend with his balking eye. 

The dinner was good and all were merry. 

And plenty there was of champagne and sherry ; 

And the toasts were brisk and the wine was good, 

And we all took quite as much as we should. 

Then we went to cards ; but, I'm sorry to say, 

Brandy was ordered to whet the play ; 

And Giannone drank till his tongue lost its rein, 

And the fire had all gone into his brain. 

And names he called, and his voice was high 

As he talked of Italian liberty ! 

And cursed the priests as the root of all evil, 

And sent the cardinals all to the devil. 

" Better dig with the bayonet's point our graves, 

And die to be freemen, than live to be slaves !" 

But all the while that Giannone let fly 
These arrows of his, with a dead-cold eye 
Your friend sat playing, and now and then 
Gleamed up with a glance as sharp as a pen 
That seemed to write down every word. 
And then looked away as he had not heard ; 
And whenever he opened his lips, he said 
Something about the game, — " You've played 
A heart to my club ; we're one to six ; 
Yours are the honors and ours the tricks." 

I watched him well, and at last said I 
To myself, " The rascal must be a spy." 
So " Zitto ! Zitto ! don't be so rash, 



The soul in its highest moods translates itself by poising its agents. Poise 
the soul, and the whole muscular system is in action to poise the body. — Moses 
True Brown. 



26 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Giannone," I cried ; *' who knows what ear 
May be listening at the door to hear?" 
And then with a laugh, and looking straight 
At this fne7td oi yours, with his face sedate, 
I added, *^Who knows but there may be 
A spy even here in this company ?" 
i 

If I doubted before the trade of your friend, 

My doubts in a moment had their end ; 

For a glance came straight up into my eyes 

From under his lids, half fear, half surprise. 

Then turning back with a look demure. 

And a deprecating, pious air, 

As much as to say, ^' We must not care, 

Knowing the means are justified 

By the noble end," — he slowly said, 

Speaking, of course, about the game, 

**The trick is mine — 'twas the knave I played." 

No sooner the dread word ^^spy" I spoke, 

Than Giannone's discourse like a pipe-stem broke 

*^ Ah !" he cried, " there's a dirty trick 

In the very word that makes me sick ; 

You English don*t know as well as I 

The slobber and slime of a Government Spy. 

"Ser Serpente, permit me now 

To introduce him — a friend of mine — 

Smooth, pale, bloodless lips and brow — 

A long black coat, whose rubbed seams shine — 

Spots on his waistcoat of grease and wine — 



The thumb is the thermovieter of life in its extending progression, as it is ofl 
death in its contracting progression. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 27 

A tri-cornered hat all rusty with use — 

Long, black, coarse stockings and buckled shoes ; 

Ah ! so polite with his bows and smiles. 

And his sickening compliments and wiles, 

He dares not look you straight in the eyes, 

But, sidling and simpering, askance alway, 

He oils you over with wheedling lies, 

As the boa slimes ere he swallows his prey. 

Many a fellow owes him his death 

Just for a strong word, spoken may be 

When the blood was hot and the tongue too free. 

But one morning they found him taking his rest 

In the street, with a dagger stuck in his breast. 

And served him right, say you and I, 

It was only too easy a death for a spy." 

At this yonv friend threw dov/n his card, 
Saying, " You've won to-night, 'tis true, 
But to-morrow I'll have my revenge on you.'* 
And though these words to his friend he spoke, 
He looked, at Giannone so sharp and hard. 
With such a sinister, evil look. 
That a dark suspicion in me awoke. 

Two days after I went to see 

Whether Giannone would walk with me. 

Two sharp bell-pulls at his door ; 

No aaswer— gone out ; then one pull more. 

Then slipped a slide back cautiously 

From a little grated hole—'' Chi e ?" 

" And where is the Signor Padrone ?" I cried. 



In all the normal attitudes of the legs^ the weight is borne equally on both. 
—Genevieve Stebbins. 



28 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" Ah !'* with a sort of convulsive groan, 

The poor old servant, sighing, replied, 

" Doesn't your Signoria know — 

The sbirri came here yesterday. 

And carried the caro padrone away ; 

And they've rifled his desk of letters and all, 

And taken the pistols and swords from the wall, 

And locked up the room with a great red seal 

Put over the door ; and they scared me so 

With threats, if I dared in the chamber to go, 

That I'm all of a tremble from head to heel ; 

And oh, I fear, Signore dear. 

There's some dreadful political biisiness here." 

The servant's story was all too true ; 

From that night I never saw him again. 

Worse, neither I nor his family knew. 

And Giannone himself is as ignorant too — 

What was his crime — what done — what said, 

That drew this punishment down on his head. 

This one fact alone we know. 

That since the speech of that famous night 

Giannone has vanished out of sight. 

And has gone to pass a year or more. 

In a building where the Government pay 

His lodging and board in the kindest way. 

I cannot help wishing the end would come 

Of this public hospitality. 

And that poor Giannone was free to go home. 

But when will that be ? you ask me — Ah ! 

That is the question ; chi lo sa ? 

Next month — next year — next century ! 



The spirit o/ God is inherent in all things: and this spirit should^ at a 
given fnofnent^ flash its splendors in the eyes of an intellect alike subvtissive^ 
attentive^ Patient^ and suppliant. — Delsarte. 



-!^ 



*- 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 29 

WHAT AILED THE PUDDING. 



Josephine Pollard. 



" T ^rHAT shall we have for dinner, to-day ?*' 
^ ' Said Mrs. Dobbs, in her pleasant way; 
" For Sally has much to do, and would wish 
That we'd get along with an easy dish — 
Something that wouldn't take long to prepare, 
Or really require much extra care." 
Said Mrs. Dobbs: "There isn't a doubt 
But what we'd all fancy a stirabout !" 

"A hasty pudding ! Hurrah ! that's nice !" 
Exclaimed the girls and boys in a trice. 
Then Sally put on the biggest pot, 
And soon the water was boiling hot. 
And Mrs. Dobbs mixed together some flour 
And water, and in less than half an hour 
The pudding began to bubble up thick 
And dance about with the pudding-stick. 

Said Mr. Dobbs, as he made a halt : 
" Our Sally is apt to forget the salt. 
So I'll put in a pinch ere I leave the house.'* 
And he went on tip-toe, as still as a mouse, 
And, dropping a handful in very quick, 
Stirred it well about with the pudding-stick. 
And said to himself : " Now, isn't this clever !" 
At which the pudding laughed louder than ever. 

Then Mrs. Dobbs came after a while. 
And looked in the pot with a cheery smile, 



Man can only Judge of what is by what he can experience., and by the use he 
is enabled to make of that experience., through the action of the faculties. — 
Mrs. Frank Stuart Parker. 



30 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And thought how much she'd enjoy the treat, 
And how much the children would want to eat; 
Then said: ^^Our Sally has one great fault — 
She is very apt to forget the salt I" 
And into the hasty pudding was sent 
A handful of this ingredient. 

John, George, and Jennie, and Bess, in turn, 
Gave the stick a twist, lest the pudding burn ; 
For oh! how empty and wretched they'd feel 
If anything ruined their noonday meal ! 
And each in turn began to reflect. 
And make amends for Sally's neglect, 
P^or the girl was good, but she had one fault — 
She was very apt to forget the salt ! 

But Sally herself, it is strange to say. 
Was not remiss in her usual way ; 
But before she went to her up-stairs work 
She threw in a handful of salt with a jerk. 
And stirred the pudding, and stirred the fire, 
Which made the bubbles leap higher and higher. 
And as soon as the clock struck twelve she took 
The great big pot off the great big hook. 

It wasn't scorched ! Ah ! that was nice ! 

And one little dish would not suffice 

Mr. or Mrs. Dobbs, I guess, 

John, or George, or Jennie, or Bess ; 

And as for Sally, I couldn't say 

How much of the pudding she'd stow away, 

For she was tired and hungry, no doubt. 

And very fond of this stirabout. 



Vulgar and tmcultured people^ as well as children^ seem to act in regard to I 
an ascensional vocal progression in an inverse sense to well-educated^ or ^ ai | 
any rate^ aj^ectionate persons, such as luothers and fond nurses. — Dp:lsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 31 

A happier group you'd ne'er be able 

To find than sat at the Dobbses' table, 

With plates and spoons and a hungry wish 

To eat their fill of the central dish. 

But as Mr. Dobbs began to taste 

The pudding, he dropped his spoon in haste; 

And of all the children did likewise, — 

As big as saucers their staring eyes. 

Said Mrs. Dobbs, in a voice not sweet : 
" Why, it isn't fit for the pigs to eat !" 
And I doubt if an artist would e'er be able 
To depict their looks as they left the table. 
Said Sally: " I thought it would be so nice! 
But I must have salted that pudding twice !'* 
And none of the family mentioned that they 
Had a hand in boiling the dinner that day. 



LOST. 



T^HE chill November day was done, 

The dry old leaves were flying; 
When, mingled with the roaring wind, 

I heard a small voice crying. 
And shivering at the corner stood 

A child of four or over; 
No cloak nor hat her small, soft arms 

And wind-blown curls to cover. 

With one wee hand she pushed them back, 
She slipped in mine the other; 
— — 4- 

Pantomimic expression^ like every other expression of man, is a manifesta- 
tion of the activity of the being, soul, ego, or animating principle, by the 
activity of the body. — Y^xi^K. Stuart Parker. 



32 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Half scared, half trustingly, she said, 
** Oh, please, I want my mother !" 

" Tell me your street and number, pet; 
Don't cry, I'll take you to it.'* 

Sobbing, she answered: "I forget; 
The organ made me do it. 

** He came and played at Miller's steps, 

The monkey took the money; 
And so I followed down the street, 

That monkey was so funny. 
I've walked about a hundred hours, 

From one street to another; 
The monkey's gone, I've lost my flowers — 

Oh, please, I want my m.other !" 

The sky grew stormy; people passed. 

All muffled, homeward faring; 
" You'll have to spend the night with me," 

I said, at last, despairing. 
I tied her kerchief round her neck — 

*'What ribbon's this, my blossom?" 
** Why, don't you know?" she smiling asked, 

And drew it from her bosom. 

A card with number, street, and name: 

My eyes, astonished, met it; 
^* For," said the little one, ^^ you see 

I might sometimes forget it. 
And so I wear a little thing 

That tells you all about it; 
For mother says she's very sure 

I would get lost without it." 



When the head moves in an inverse direction from the object that it exam- I 
ineSyit is/rotn a selfish standpoint : and when the examiner bends toward | 
the object^ it is in contempt of self that the object is viewed. — Delsakte. 

V ^ + 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 33 

THE MINUET. 



Mary Mapes Dodge. 



r^ RANDMA told me all about it, 

^^ Told me so I couldn't doubt it, 

How she danced — my grandma danced — long ago ; 

How she held her pretty head — 

How her dainty skirt she spread — 

How she turned her little toes — 

Smiling little human rose — long ago. 

Grandma's hair was bright and sunny ; 
Dimpled cheeks, too — ah, how funny ! 
Really quite a pretty girl — long ago ! 
Bless her ! why she wears a cap. 
Grandma does, and takes a nap 
Every single day ; and yet 
Grandma danced the minuet — long ago. 

Now she sits there, rocking, rocking, 

Always knitting grandpa's stocking 

(Every girl was taught to knit — long ago) ; 

Yet her figure is so neat. 

And her way so staid and sweet, 

I can almost see her now 

Bending to her partner's bow — long ago. 

Grandma says our modern jumping, 
Hopping, rushing, whirling, bumping. 
Would have shocked the gentle folk — long ago. 
No ; they moved with stately grace, 
Everything in proper place ; 



If we desire that a thing be always rerneinbered^ we must not say it in 
words: we must let it be divined^ revealed by gesture^ Wherever there is an 
ellipse in a discourse^ gesture must intervene to explain this ellipse. — Delau- 

MOSNE. 

+ . 



34 DELSARTE RECITATlOiV BOOK. 

i. N. HUMMEL. 









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DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 35 

Gliding slowly forward, then 

Slowly courtesying back again — long ago. 

Modern ways are quite alarming, 
Grandma says ; but boys were charming — 
Girls and boys I mean, of course — long ago. 
Bravely modest, grandly shy, 
What if all of us should try 
Just to feel like those who met 
In the graceful minuet — long ago? 

With the minuet in fashion. 

Who could fly into a passion ? 

All would wear the calm they wore — long ago. 

In time to come, if I, perchance. 

Should tell my grandchild of our dance, 

I should really like to say, 

** We did it, dear, in some such way — long ago." 

[The reader is to dance at the end of each stanza. The music is for 
the dancing only, and is not to be played during the reciting. If re- 
cited in the costume of a last century bello, with powdered hair, the 
effect will be heightened.] 



DIRECTIONS FOR DANCING THE MINUET. 



James Brooks. 



Arranged for four couples in a column, or as many 
columns of four couples each as there is room for, 
formed thus: 

FRONT. 

X- O X — -O 

X — ^O X O 

X O X o 

X O X o 



The artist should aim to -manifest human nature in its three modalities^ in 
its three phases ivhich the master named life^ soul^ and mind. In other 
ivords^ the beings physical^ moral^ and mental. — Arnaud. 



36 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

All courtesies are begun by ladies sliding the right 
foot to the side. 

All bows, after the first, are begun by gentlemen 
sliding the left foot to the side. 

All other movements are begun by both gentlemen and 
ladies with the right foot, unless otherwise directed. 

Gentlemen will always place right hand on their hearts 
when bowing to partners. 

During the introduction, gentlemen will give right 
hands to ladies' left, and hold the hands well up in front, 
ready to begin. 

Walk six steps forwa7'd (closing the left foot up to the 
right, in first position for sixth count). 

Salute to the front. 

Walk six steps back (turning to face partner, give left 
hand to ladies' left, looking at partners over arms, gen- 
tlemen close left up to right for the sixth count, and at 
the same time face partners; ladies step with left foot 
for the sixth count, and at the same time close right up 
to left to face partner). 

Salute partners. 

Walk six steps forward. 

Walk six steps back (face partners and step back with 
left foot on the sixth count, swaying the body backward 
on the left foot so as to form an attitude, right toe 
pointed in fourth position in front). 

Turn partners with the right hand. 

Salute partners, 

Chasse to the left (face the front and cross hands with 
partners, right hand uppermost; step with left foot to 
the side (count one); right in front of the left (count 
two); left to side (count three); right in front of left 
(count four); left to the side (count five); face partners, 
gentlemen transferring the weight of the body to the 
left foot, ladies carrying the right foot forward, right 
toe pointed in fourth position (count six). 

Turft partners half around (with right hand). 



The shoulder generally rises less when the head retroacts than when it ad- 
vances toward the object of its contemplation. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 37 

Chassd to the right (face partners at the fifth count 
and close left foot up to the right in first position for 
six). 

Salute partners. 

Turn partners half around (with right hand). 

Reverse the half turn (without disengaging the right 
hands, the lady passing under the upraised right arms, 
turning to the right and stepping back for five and six, 
steps to face partner). 

Turn partners half around (with left hand). 

Salute partners. 

Walk past partners six steps (facing partners, walk past 
partners, gentlemen passing in front of the ladies four 
steps; step w^ith right foot to second position, five; close 
left foot up to right, six). 

Salute in the direction you are facing. 

All turn to the right and walk back to place (ladies pass- 
ing in front, finish facing partners). 

Salute partners. 

Walk six steps forward (at the fifth count face partners 
and step back with left foot to fourth position, right toe 
pointed in front for six). 

Turn partners (with right hand). 

Walk back to places six steps (gentleman giving left 
hand to lady's right). 

Salute partners. 

Turn partners half around (with right hand). 
^ Salute partners. 

Turn partners to places (with left hand). 

Salute partners. 

Moulinet (cross right hands — the first and second, and 
the third and fourth couples cross right hands around 
to the left (counting i, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11), dis- 
engage hands and step back with left foot, leaving right 
foot pointed in the centre — count 12). 

Moulinet back (cross left hands and salute to the 
front). 



A perfected voice can reveal almost everything which human nature is ca- 1 
pable of thinking or feeling or beings and not only reveal it^ but also wield it 
as an instrument of influence to awaken in the auditor correspondent expe- 
riences .—^ien . W. R. Alger. 



-4- 



38 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

SNOW-FLAKES AND SNOW- 
. DRIFTS. 

A S TUD Y IN ALL I TERA TION. 



Martha Tyler Gale. 



Asking approval of alliteration 
Before we begin, we beg benediction, 
Caution, and candor from critics who censure 
This daring description of delicate snow-drifts. 

A NGELIC aeronaut, airy and active, 

Aerial avalanche, alpine and awful. 
Beating men, buffeting, blinding, and burying, 
Bountifully broadcast, brilliant in beauty, 
Bird-like and buoyant, yet bringing a blessing, 
Coming so constantly, crowding and chasing, 
Cov'ring all closely with cerements. 

Carving such curious conceits on the casements. 
Crystals, once clear-cut, now crushed by collision, 
Coronets, crested and cast from cloud-ceilings, 
Can still be so cold, calm, chilling, and cheerless. 
Driving its drifts down destructively, drearily, 
Dismally direful, dreadfully deadly, 
Daintily draping and decking dull deserts, 
Elfish, erratic, empyreal! 

Elegant, exquisite, endlessly eddying, 
Frosting the farms, and the firs, and the fences, 
Fringing the forests with fantastic fern-fronds. 
Flying all feathery, fleecy, and foamy. 
Flinging its flakes forward, faultless as flowers, 



Art^ notwithstanding tke antiquity of its orig^in^ is still^^/rotn a didactical 
\ point o/view^ unknown even to those who Prof ess it. — Delsarte. 



JDELSAR7ja KECITATION BOOK, 39 

Falling from far, from full-fed frosty fountains, 
Glittering, glistening, gossamer, gauzy, 
Gems that are God-given, gracefully. 

Hastening from heaven's brow, hurrying headlong. 
Hiding the heads of the hills all so hoary, 
Heaving its heaps up higher and huger, 
Icily idling in isolate islands. 
Jauntily joining in jollity joyous. 
Kissing the kings, the kittens, and king-birds; 
Lasses and lads love to laugh at its lightness, 
Lily-like, lovely, yet lawless. 

Loitering lazily, lingering lovingly 
In myriad mazes or in mountainous masses, 
Noiselessly nestling 'neath the nooks of nature, 
Omniform opulent, — only observe it ! 
Perfectly pure, so pale, pearly, and peerless, 
Poising on pinnacles, perched picturesquely, 
Playing with plumage and pinions on pine peaks, 
Quelling by quantity, quietly. 

Roving round restlessly, rioting ruthlessly, 
Sweeping on swiftly and surging on sea-like, 
Scattered so spray-like, sailing so swan-like. 
Stealing in stillness, slow, solemn, and shroud-like. 
Softly and silently shed by sweet seraphim, 
Showered so strangely, shining and star-like. 
Towering and tipping the turrets of temples, 
Tossing in tempests terrific. 

Toying tenderly with tracery tasteful, 
Transiently trimming the twigs and the tree-tops. 



Here is the gra7id law of organic gym7iastics: The triple inovevient^ the 
triple language of the organs is eccentric^ concentric^ or normal^ according as 
it is the expression of life ^ soul^ or spirit, — Delaumosne. 



40 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Unwearied, unsullied, unspotted, unearthly, 

Volatile visitant, — volley of vapor; 

Voyaging vaguely, all visible veiling, 

Waving white wings, and wrathfully warning, 

Whirled by wild winds the world wrapping so whitely. 

Youthfully yielding, sent yearly for yule-time. 

From the zone of the zenith blown zigzag by zephyrs. 



PLAYING SCHOOL. 



LiDA P. Caskin. 



T^WO little tots on the carpet at play, 
^ Tired of their usual games, one day, 
Said one to the other: ^* Let's play stool; 
I'll be teacher, and don't you fool. 
But sit up nice, like a sure 'nough stolar; 
You'll miss your lesson, I bet you a dollar." 
Casting about for a word to spell. 
Blue eyes on puss and her kitten fell; 
As an object lesson they pose with grace. 
The mamma washing her baby's face. 
'* Spell Tat," the teacher grandly gives out; 
** Quick, now; mind what you're about." 
The " scholar," failing with ignominy, 
Is sorely shaken and dubbed a ninny. 
The word repeated again, she fails. 
When the scene on the rug again avails. 
And the teacher relents, conscience-smitten: 
"If you tan't spell Tat, then spell Titten!" 

The powers of art are the wings of the soul. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 41 

THE JOKER'S MISTAKE. 

AN ENCORE PANTOMIME, 



Lemuel B. C. Josephs. 



[The pantomimist is supposed to have played a joke and is at first so 
overcome with the ridiculous side of it that he is unable to see just how 
the victim has taken it. Gradually it dawns upon him that the joke has 
been resented, and from surprise his feeling changes to entreaty for 
forgiveness, instead of which is visited upon him the wrath of the vic- 
tim. It is recommended that this description be printed on the pro- 
gram when the pantomime is given. — Editor.] 

T7 NTER at right of stage as if followed by Mr. Blank, 
-L^ at whom you are laughing heartily. All the panto- 
mime of laughter is to be given without the sound: 
mouth open wide; eyes nearly closed; head thrown 
slightly back; shoulders raised; body shaking with un- 
controlled laughter (same action as in continued cough- 
ing, except that the mouth is open wide, lips drawn 
back, showing teeth); arms hanging relaxed. 

Stopping in walk near the middle front of stage, turn 
slowly toward Blank, taking attitude of base with feet 
wide apart, weight on both, right arm rising to point at 
him, while the head, in opposition, is moving slightly 
forw^ard, so that the forehead is farther front than the 
chin, eyes wide open directed to Blank, eyebrows raised. 
Hold attitude. 

Now change expression of face to pain mingled with 
laughter; mouth still laughing ; rest of face contracted 
as in pain. Left hand then presses side of torso, elbow 
out. A moment later bring right hand also to side, 
head falling back over left shoulder. Hold attitude. 

Right hand now seeks side of forehead; head falling 



I Concentrated passion tends to explosion; explosion to prostration. Thus the 
only emotion ivhich does not tend to its own destruction is that which is per- 
fectly poised. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



44 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

SUGGESTION. 

In the practice of this pantomime, subtle changes of 
expression and enlargement of the scene by the intro- 
duction of other attitudes will suggest themselves to 
the student. The writer has endeavored merely to out- 
line the work, knowing that if each attitude were de- 
scribed in all its details these dangers might arise: either 
the explanation might be confusing, or it would make 
the student merely mechanical, or it would not be read 
at all. The most important thing to be remembered is 
that the situation must be realized by the student ; that 
is, he must feel that certain things called up to his im- 
agination are real, and let his well-trained body be free 
to obey his inner states. Each expression of face, body, 
and limb continues until contradicted. 



THE MASQUE OF THE NEW YEAR. 



Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



I. 
/^UT from tower and from steeple rang the sudden 
^^-^^ New Year bells. 

Like the chorusing of genii in aerial citadels; 
And, as they chimed and echoed overthwart the gulfs 

of gloom, 
Lo, a brilliance burst upon me, and a masque went 

through the room. 

First, the young New Year came forward like a little 

dancing child. 
And his hair was as a glory, and his eyes were bright 

and wild, 

■ 4* 

It is clearly easier to translate a langtiage than to 'write it; and just as ive 
must learn to translate before ive can learn to compose^ so we must become 
thoroughly familiar with semeiotics before trying to work at cesthetics. — Del- 

SARTE. 

^ , 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 45 

And he shook an odorous torch, and he laughed but did 

not speak, 
And his smile went softly rippling through the roses of 

his cheek. 

'Round he looked across his shoulder — and the Spirit 

of the Spring 
Entered slowly, moved before me, paused and lingered 

on the wing; 
And she smiled and wept together, with a dalliance 

quaint and sweet. 
And her tear-drops changed to flowers underneath her 

gliding feet. 

Then a landscape opened outward; broad, brown wood- 
lands stretched away 

In the luminous blue distance of a windy, clear March 
day; 

Birds flashed about the copses, striking sharp notes 
through the air; 

Danced the lambs within the meadows; crept the snake 
from out his lair. 

Soft as shadows sprang the violets, thousands seeming 

but as one; 
Flamed the crocuses beside them, like gold droppings 

of the sun; 
And the Goddess of the Spring faded where the leaves 

were piled; 
And the New Year had grown older, and no longer was 

a child. 



When a pupil is able at will instantly to summon the distinct and vivid 
picture on his face of whatever state of feeling calls for expression^ he is so 
far forth ready for entrance on his professional career. — Rev. W. R. Alger, 



46 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

11. 

Summer, shaking languid roses from his dew-bedabbled 

hair, 
Summ.er, in a robe of green, and with his arms and 

shoulders bare. 
Next came forward, flowers bowed beneath a crowd of 

armored bees; 
Long grass swaying in the playing of the almost wearied 

breeze. 

Rapid, rosy-tinted lightnings, where the rocky clouds 

are riven. 
Like the lifting of a veil before the inner courts of 

heaven; 
Silver stars in azure evenings, slowly climbing up the 

steep; 
Cornfields ripening to the harvest, and the wide seas 

smooth with sleep. 

Circled with those living splendors, Summer passed from 

out my sight 
Like a dream that filled with beauty all the caverns of 

the night! 
And the vision and the presence into empty nothing 

ran — 
And the New Year was still older, and seemed now a 

youthful man. 

III. 

Autumn! Forth from glowing orchards stepped he 

gayly in a gown 
Of warm russet, freaked with gold, and with a vision 

sunny brown; 



\ The characteristic of beauty is to be amiable; consequently^ a thing is ugly 
; only in vieiv of the amiable things which we seek in beauty. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 47 

On his head a rural chaplet, wreathed with heavily 
drooping grapes, 

And broad shadow-casting vine leaves like the Bac- 
chanalian shapes. 

Fruits and berries rolled before him from the year's ex- 
hausted horn; 

Jets of wine went spinning upward, and he held a sheaf 
of corn; 

And he laughed for very joy, and he danced from too 
much pleasure. 

And he sang old songs of harvest, and he quaffed a 
mighty measure. 

But I saw the woods consuming in a many-colored 

death — 
Streaks of yellow flame down-deepening through the 

green that lingereth. 
Sanguine flashes, like a sunset, and austerely shadowing 

brown; 
And I heard within the silence the nuts sharply rattling 

down. 

And I saw the long, dark hedges all alight with scarlet 
fire, 

Where the berries, pulpy-ripe, had spread their bird- 
feasts on the brier. 

All too soon waned Autumn, vanished over misty heath 
and meres — 

And the New Year- stood beside me like a man of fifty 
years. 

^ 

Continued indulgence in any one form of feeling will make that feeling the I 
\ predominant trait. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



48 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

IV. 

In a foggy cloud obscurely entered Winter, ashy pale, 
And his step was hard and heavy, and he wore an icy 

mail ; 
Blasting all the path before him, leapt a black wind 

from the North, 
And from stinging drifts of sleet he forged the arrows 

of his wrath. 



Yet some beauty still was found; for when the fogs had 

passed away. 
The wide lands came glittering forward in a fresh and 

strange array; 
Naked trees had got snow foliage, soft, and feathery, 

and bright, 
And the earth looked dressed for heaven in its spiritual 

white. 

But the face of Winter softened, and his lips broke into 
smiles, 

And his heart was filled with radiance as from far-en- 
chanted isles; 

For across the long horizon came a light upon the way — 

The light of Christmas fires, and the dawning of new 
day. 

And Winter moved not onward like the rest, but made 

a stand. 
And took the spirit of Christmas, as a brother, by the 

hand; 
And together toward the heavens a great cry of joy they 

sent — 
And the New Year was the Old Year, and his head was 

gray and bent. 



^Esthetics determines the inherent forms of sentiment in view of the ejects 
whose truth of relation it estimates. — Dslsakte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 49 

Then another New Year entered, like another dancing 

child, 
With his tresses as a glory, and his glances bright and 

wild ; 
And he flashed his odorous torch, and he laughed out 

in the place, 
And his soul looked forth in joy and made a sunshine 

on his face. 

Out from spire, and from turret, pealed the sudden New 
Year bells, 

Like the distant songs of angels in their fields of aspho- 
dels; 

And that lustrous child went sparkling to his aged 
father's side, 

And the New Year kissed the Old Year, and the Old 
Year gently died. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE JOHNS- 
TOWN FLOOD. 



MONNIE MOORE. 



[During that awful night of horror a woman upon a trail raft, borne 
along by the angry waters, was heard singing this old-time hymn.] 

^y Let me to Thy bosom fly'' 
Hark ! above the angry tempest, 

And the waves that beat the shore, 
Comes the sound of some one singing, • 

Sounds a voice above the roar. 



Art is expression^ involving something to he expressed^ and a proper /ori^t 
as the medium of expression. — T. M. Balliet. 



50 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And the watchers, filled with horror, 

Mingled with a breathless awe. 
Heard the sweet and old-time music, 

Though the singer no one saw. 
Nearer, nearer, now 'tis plainer; 

List ! the words are borne along, 
As a soul that's fast departing 

Seeks her Maker with a song. 
And her gentle spirit passing 

From its home of earthly clay, 
Soon will find that blessed refuge, 

Soon will tread the shining way. 

** Other refuge have I none, 
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee'^ 
Helpless ? no, thy faith will strengthen 

Thee, and banish every fear. 
And the storm that beats above thee 

Brings thee heaven still more near. 
Oh ! the anguish; oh ! the weeping 

Of that awful, dreary time; 
But like oil upon the waters. 

Came the words of that old hymn, 
Though they knew no more, forever, 

Would the singer sweetly tell 
Of the refuge from all sorrow, 

Of the way that leads from hell. 

" Leave, oh I leave me not alone. 
Still support and comfort me'' 
Not alone upon the waters, 

Still thy soul thy Lord will keep; 
h ■ ^ 

A rt is an act whose semeioiics characterizes the forms produced by the ac- 
tion of powers^ which action is determined by cesthetics^ and the causes of\ 
which are sought out by ontology. — Delsarte. 
t- ^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 51 

And His hand will still support thee, 

Though the waves toss wild and steep. 
Frail thy bark, but great His mercy; 

And thy loved ones gone before 
Will behold thy face in rapture, 

Ere this long, dark night is o'er. 
Onward, still, the singer floating. 

Swirling, changing with the tide, 
Weak and frail, alone and dying, 

Where is he who- made her bride ? 
Where the strong arms that would shield her? 

Where the broad and manly form 
That would brook no ill or danger, 

So that she should meet no harm ? 



Tell the story, oh, ye billows ! 

That with fury round her play. 
Tell how battling bravely, grandly, 

Did he give his life away. 
Tell the story of his daring. 

How he sternly baffled death. 
As he strove to save his dear ones 

With his latest fleeting breath; 
How the shining baby ringlets 

That were pillowed on his breast, 
Lie there still in death's grim silence, 

That together now they rest. 
While the gentle little mother 

Floats away, alone, away, 
Through the storm and through the darkness 

To the golden endless day. 



All gestures may be divided into trvo classes: Gestures which make re/Ter- 
ence to objects; gestures which express the states or conditions of the being. — 
Moses True Brown. 



52 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

And adown the shore the watchers 

Greet the singer and her song, 
Which no tempest sound can deaden. 

As the years shall pass, how long 
Will that singer be remembered, 

Telling from the gates of death 
Of the old-time faith and duty 

That makes calm the latest breath. 
And the sneers that men may offer, 

With the scholar's logic deep. 
Must be laid aside forever 

When we reach our final sleep; 
And the faith that Jesus taught us, 

In the words of that old hymn. 
Is the faith that's surest, safest. 

When the tempest shuts us in. 

While the refuge that would shelter 

Every proud and wilful head, 
Was the refuge of the singer. 

And her soul was free from dread. 
As above the tempest sang she, 

Sheltered by an angel's wing; 
While her last words, faintly spoken. 

*^ Simply to Thy cross I clings 
Simply to Thy cross ^ oh. Saviour !" 

Seemed they all to hear her say. 
As the dark waves closed above her, 

As they bore her form away. 
And through all that time of sorrow, 

Through the days of gloom and woe, 

4- ^ 

The Beautiful is an absolute principle', it is the essence of beings ^ the life 
of their functions. Beauty js a consequence^ an effect^ a form of the Beauti- 
ful. — Delsarte. 



4- 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 53 

Seemed they still to hear that singer 

Singing softly, sweet and low: 
" Nothing in my hand I brings 
Simply to Thy cross I cling'' 



PERDITA. 



A COSTUME STATUE RECITATION, 



Mrs. W. R. Jones. 



T BREATHE, I move, I live! 

My pulses throb, my heart begins to beat! 
I feel the hot blood mounting to my cheeks! 
My nerves awake with strange electric thrill I 
My limbs succumb to this new power. 
And bend obedient to my will! 
Oh, this is life! my wild desire, my bitter-sweet; 
Oh, mad delight! I kneel to welcome thee; 
I clasp thee to my passionate heart; 
I laugh to hear the echoes of my voice; 
I weep to feel the hot tears on my cheek, 
I move and turn to know that I am free ! 

A sudden memVy flashes through my brain 

And checks my gladness at its birth. 

Oh! once before I lived in this glad world. 

As glad as now. Perdita was my name, 

Perdita — lost? Aye, lost! Well named was I, 

Since lost I am to all I knew and loved ! 

I loved Justitia — loved him ? Love him still! 

Moons waxed and waned above our happy heads. 

Till June breathed over us her am'rous sighs. 

And roses blushed to greet her; then we made ready 

A 4, 

The coming reaction from the modern scientific era jnust be steadily toward 
a time ivhen there will be a better care for our bodies and vital needs ^ and 
truer appreciation of the ar/'j.— Franklin H. Sargent. 



54 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

For the marriage rites. The light-winged hours flew by 
Until the strange, glad evening came. 
Crowned with pale roses, 'mid the happy guests 
I stood, trembling, expectant, awaiting my lord. 
" He comes," they cried, and parted to make room. 

Into my glad eyes some one was looking. 

It was not he, but Vindex, rejected suitor, spurned long 
since! 

" What dost thou here ?" 

**Justitia is false to thee; this hour is wedded to an- 
other," 

He whispered low into my dull ear. 

"Justitia false to me! this hour is w^edded to another! 

Impossible!" '^ The trailing fire of their mad revelry 

See thou here! Justitia forgets Perdita in the merry 
dance. 

Or in the soft caresses of his love. 

Or remembers but to scorn. He mocks thee waiting. 

Though spurned by thee, I come to shield thee 

From the jeering crowd. Let Vindex share thy shame, 

Or interpose his ready arm 'twixt thee 

And mocking insult. Let Hymen's altar not be decked 
in vain. 

To shield and save thy honor, that is all I ask. 

When thou shalt bear my name, swift as a falling star 

I'll quit thy sight; can love do more?" 

Stung into madness by the treachery of him I loved 
Oh! better than the red blood of my heart, 
Better — hear it, ye gods! — than all my hopes of bliss — 
" 'Tis well!" I cried; *Met the procession move! 



Beauty is that reason itself which presides at the creation of things. — Del- 

SARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 55 

Justitia, let him not once be named among us. 
Once lord of my heart, henceforth accursed! 
Vindex, whom you all know has loved me long, 
The noble scion of a noble house, does me the honor 
To make me his bride. Let the procession move!" 

But when the merry wedding guests had gone, 
And echoes of the dance and jest had died away, 
I stood alone within my bridal chamber, 
Decked with white roses for my recreant love, 
Sadder than death. The midnight bell was tolling. 
Shrouded by curtains of the night, Vindex stole to my 

side. 
" What dost thou here ? Thy promise ! Go !'* 
** Thou art my wife !'* He was my husband, 
I, his frightened, shrinking wife ! 
*' My souFs sweet purity denies the bond. 
Betrayed by him I loved, oh, better than my life, 
I have no tongue to tell the madness that drove me 
To be thy wife. Oh ! I beseech thee, go ! 
I do not love thee ! Some law shall make 
This hateful marriage null. This chamber 
With white roses decked to celebrate our love 
Is but the symbol of the death of joy, of hope, of love, 

to me. 
I beseech thee, leave me to my madness, my despair!" 

" I am thy husband, lord of thy house, lord of thy life. 

Perdita, listen. Once at thy feet I lay, 

Imploring but a word, a smile. 

What didst thou ? Spurned me from thy sight 

As thou wouldst spurn a worm. 



Wherever beauty is found there must be the two factors — the idea and the 
form^ so united that the latter is the expression of the fortner.—'Y: . M. Bal- 

LIET. 



*- 



56 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

I swore eternal vengeance that thou should*st be my 

bride; 
I have performed the vow. As fair as false 
And false as hell, thou'rt mine by means as false as 

thou. 
Justitia lies in chains, entrapped by servitors of mine. 
He writhes, and prays to die ; calls on thy name ; 
Curses thy Vindex, ha-ha ! while I — feast on thy lips, 
Sweet lips, still sweeter since unwilling." 

*^ Oh ! no, no ! traitor ! fiend ! Justitia ! Justitia !" 

Madly I fled away through hall and corridor, 

Flying as flies the hunted doe by blood-hounds tracked; 

Crushing the roses 'neath my heedless feet ; 

Tearing my costly, pearl-set bridal robes ; 

Hiding in ghostly shadows dim ; 

Holding my panting breath with close-clinched teeth ; 

Doubling upon my track, by terror urged. 

Pursued, o'ertaken, breathless, exhausted. 

At his feet I fell with one imploring cry : 

** Oh, Vindex, pity me !" *^ ThouVt mine," he hissed, 

And stooped to kiss me. Away I sprang again, 

New nerved by touch so foul. 

" Oh, heaven !" I cried, " make me unfeeling marble, 

Insensate to his loathsome kiss !" 

Twas done ! rigid as death I stood. 

Marble cold my cheek and lip. 

Marble my heart, nor hate, nor love could know. 

Unmoved I saw the frightened Vindex stand aghast ; 

Unmoved I heard Justitia come and fall and weep. 



The shoulder^ in every man who is vtdved or agitated^ rises sensibly, his 
will playing no part in the ascension; the successive developments of this in- 
voluntary act are in absolute proportion to the passional intensity whose nu- 
meric measure they /"orm; the shoulder may^ therefore^ be fitly called the 
thermometer of sensibility . — Delsarte. 







g§9'4r™" 


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"*t£;f^~"" ''■" 



JEWEL SCENE IN ''FAUST.'^ 




PRAYING HANDS. 
By Albrecht Diirer. 



. DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 57 

In a fair niche in Art's great temple placed 

I saw men's faces come and go, 

Like shadows of a long-forgotten dream. 

Wrapped in an ecstacy of bliss I stood, 

Indifferent how the hours sped by. 

My soul seemed trembling in an upper world, 

Twin sister to the beams of stars, 

Wooed by the chaste moon's silvery light, 

Or hushed to rest by southern winds 

That, murm'ring in the dusky pines. 

Sang low. Secrets I heard of upper air, 

Secrets of stars and planets there ; 

Secrets of songs that wild birds sing. 

And why the nightingale complains. 

But to-night a white star has leaned out of heaven ; 

It has beckoned to me, is beckoning still. 

With grief, or with joy, or w^ith love overburdened, 

It is breaking its heart its secret to tell. 

Hush thy babble, oh, fountain! let me listen, let me listen. 

Be still, oh, night-winds ! in thy dusky pines ; 

Beat not so loud and so fast, my poor heart ! 

Some one is coming ; this white star is his message. 

Justitia ! Justitia ! my lover ! my lover ! 

Far off now, now nearer thy footstep I hear. \ 

Come quicker ! White star, give him these kisses, 

And tell him I live and I love him ! 

Oh ! weave me a veil of the mists of the morning 

To hide these hot blushes. Stay still on my forehead 

Marble whiteness and peace, that there he may kiss me 

And call me his angel, his bride as pure as the snow ! 



j I n proportion to the depth and majesty of the emotion ivill be the deliberate- 

ness and slowness of the motion. In proportion to the stiperficiality and ex- 

piosiveness of the emotion will be the velocity of the 7notio7i. The longer an 

agent of expression is held at rest^ the greater will be its motion when re- 

\ leased. — MosES True Brown. 

^ ^ 



58 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Justitia ! oh, my beloved ! 

The winds have sighed themselves to rest, 

The moon has kissed the sea, 

As I shall sigh upon thy breast 

And lose myself in thee ' 



WHY MY FATHER LEFT THE 
ARMY. 

Charles Lever. Arranged by John A. MacCabe. 



" T3UT by the piper that played before Moses, it's more 

•'^ whipping nor gingerbread is going on amongst 
sodgers, av ye knew but all, and heard the misfortune 
that happened to my father." 

*' And was he a sodger?" inquired one. 

*^ Troth was he, more sorrow to him, and wasn't he 
almost whipped, one day, for doing what he was bid 
Maybe ye might like to hear the story, and there's in- 
struction in it for yes, too. 

*' Well, it's a good many years ago my father listed in 
the North Cork, just to oblige Mr. Barry; 'for,' says 
he, ' Phil,' says he, ' it's not a sodger ye'll be at all, but 
my own man, to brush my clothes and go errands, and 
the like o' that. Well, my father agreed, and Mr. Barry 
was as good as his word. 

" Well, for three years this went on as I'm telling, 
when one evening there was a night party patrolling, 
with Captain Barry, for six hours in the rain, and the 
captain, God be marciful to him, tuk cowld and died: 



When a man says to you in interjeciive forni^ " I love ^ I suffer^ I am de- 
lighted,'''' etc., do not believe him if his shoulder remains in a norvial atti- 
tude.— DKi.SAYiT'E. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 59 

more betoken, they said it was drink, but my father says 
it wasn't ; ^ for,' says he, ' after he tuk eight tumblers 
comfortable, I mixed the ninth, and the captain waved 
his hand this way, as much as to say he'd have no more. 
Is it that ye mean,' says my father, and the captain 
nodded. * Musha, but it's sorry I am,' says my father, 
* to see you this way, for ye must be bad entirely to 
leave off in the beginning of the evening.' And thrue 
for him, the captain was dead in the morning. 

" A sorrowful day it was for my father, when he died ; 
it was the finest place in the world ; little to do ; plenty 
of divarsion ; and a kind man he was. Well, when the 
captain was buried, my father hoped they'd be for let- 
ting him away ; but they ordered him into the ranks to 
be drilled just like the recruits they took the day be- 
fore. 

^' * Musha, isn't this hard,' says my father ; ^ here I am 
an ould vitrin that ought to be discharged on a pension, 
obliged to go capering about practicing the goose step, 
or some other nonsense not becoming my age nor my 
habits ;' but so it was. Well, this went on for some 
time, and, sure, if they were hard on my father, hadn't 
he his revenge ? for he nigh broke their hearts with his 
stupidity ; oh! nothing in life could equal him ; devil a 
thing, no matter how easy, he could learn at all, and, 
so far from caring for being in confinement, it was that 
he liked best. Every sergeant in the regiment had a 
trial of him, but all to no good, and he seemed striving 
so hard to learn all the while, that they were loath to 
punish him, the ould rogue! 

*' Well, one day news came that a body of the rebels, 
as they called them, was coming down to storm the 



The artistic idea within must /brjn the outward expression^ but that idea 
seems in genius to be unconscious: you cannot mentally plan it at the moment 
of its execution. — Genevieve Stebbins. 
. . ^ 4, 



6o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

town. The whole regiment was, of course, underarms, 
and great preparations were made for a battle ; patrols 
were ordered to scour the roads, and sentries posted 
everywhere, to give warning when the boys came in 
sight, and my father was placed at the bridge of Drum- 
snag, in the wildest and bleakest part of the whole 
country. 

** * This is pleasant,' says my father, as soon as they 
left him there alone by himself, with no human crayture 
to speak to, nor refreshment within ten miles of him; 
'cowld comfort,* says he, * on a winter's day, and faix 
but Tve a mind to give ye the slip.' 

"Well, he put his gun down, and he lit his pipe, and 
he sat down under an ould tree and began to ruminate 
upon his affairs. 

"* Oh, then, it's wishing it well I am,' says he, *for 
sodgering; and, bad luck to the hammer that struck the 
shilling that listed me, that's all,' for he was mighty low 
in his heart. 

"Just then a noise came rattling down near him; and 
before he could get on his legs, down came the general, 
ould Cohoon, with an orderly after him. 

" * Who goes there ?' says my father. 

"'The round,' says the general, looking about to see 
where was the sentry, for my father was snug under the 
tree. 

" * What round?* says my father. 

"'The grand round,' says the general, more puzzled 
than afore. 

"'Pass on, grand round, and God save you kindly,' 
says my father, putting his pipe in his mouth again, for 
he thought all was over. 



Esthetics is the science of the sensitive and passional manifestations which 
I are the object of art^ and whose psychic form it constitutes. — Delsartk. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 6 1 

"^ Where are you?' says the general; for sorra bit of 
my father could he see yet. 

"*It's here I am/ says he, ^ and a cowld place I 
have of it; and av it wasn't for the pipe I'd be lost en- 
tirely/ 

** The words wasn't well out of his mouth, when the 
general began laughing till ye'd think he'd fall off his 
horse. 

"'Yer a droll sentry,* says the general as soon he 
could speak. 

'* * Be gorra, it's little fun there's left in me,' says my 
father, ^ with this drilling, and parading, and blagaard- 
ing about the roads all night.' 

** * And is this the way you salute your officer ?' says 
the general. 

^^'Just so,' says my father; Mevil a more politeness 
ever they taught me.' 

"*What regiment do you belong to ?' says the gen- 
eral. 

** ^ The North Cork, bad luck to them,' says my father, 
with a sigh. 

*' ^ They ought to be proud of ye,' says the general. 

"^ I'm sorry for it,' says my father, sorrowfully, ^ for 
maybe they'll keep me the longer.' 

** * Well, my good fellow,' says the general, * let me 
teach you something before I go. Whenever your offi- 
cer passes, it's your duty to present arms to him.' 

"* Arrah, it's jokin' ye are,' says my father. 

" ' No, I'm in earnest,' says he, ^ as ye might learn to 
your cost, if I brought you to a court-martial.' 

" * Well, there's no knowing,' says my father, ^ what 
they'd be up to; but sure if that's all, I'll do it with all 



Delsarte achieved perfect triumph by abolishing self ^ ajtd always resuscitat- 
ing alive in its pure integrity the very truth of the characters he essayed. — 
Rev. W. R. Alger. 



62 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" the veins of my heart" whenever yer coming this way 
again/ 

"The general began to laugh again here, but said: 

*^ * I'm coming back in the evening,' says he, * and 
mind you don't forget your respect to your officer.' 

"* Never fear, sir,' says my father; *and many thanks 
to you for telling me.' 

" The night was falling fast, and my father began to 
think they were forgetting him entirely. He looked 
one way, and he looked another, but sorra bit of a ser- 
geant's guard was coming to relieve him. * I'll give 
you a quarter of an hour more,' says my father, * till the 
light leaves that rock up there; after that,' says he, 
* by the mass! I'll be off, cost me what it may.' 

" Well, his courage was not needed this time; for 
what did he see at the sam.e moment but a shadow of 
something coming down the road; he looked again, 
and made out the general followed by the orderly. My 
father immediately took up his musket off the wall, 
settled his belts, shook the ashes out of his pipe, and 
put it into his pocket, making himself as smart and 
neat-looking as he could be, determining, when ould 
Cohoon came up, to ask him for leave to go home, at 
least for the night. So he up with his musket to his 
shoulder, and presented it straight at the general. It 
wasn't well there, when the officer pulled up his horse 
quite short, and shouted out, * Sentry — sentry!' 

" * Anan!' says my father, still covering him. 

"* Down with your musket, you rascal; don't you see 
it's the grand round.' 

" * To be sure I do,' says my father, never changing for 
a minute. 



Nothing is so unfamiliar to man as himself. — Delsarte. 



-!- 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 63 

***The ruffian will shoot me,' says the general. 

"^ Devil a fear,' says my father, ^ av it doesn't go off 
of itself.' 

"/ What do you mean by that, you villain ?' says the 
general, scarce able to speak with fright, for every turn 
he gave on his horse my father followed with the gun — 
^ What do you mean?' 

" * Sure, aint I presenting,' says my father; ' blood an' 
ages, do you want me to fire next ?' 

**With that the general drew a pistol from his hol- 
ster, and took deliberate aim at my father; and there 
they both stood for five minutes, looking at each other, 
the orderly, all the while, breaking his heart laughing 
behind a rock; for, ye see, the general knew av he re- 
treated that m}'- father might fire on purpose, and av 
he came on that he might fire by chance; and sorra bit 
he knew what was best to be done. 

" * Are ye going to pass the evening up there, grand 
round ?' says my father, ^ for it's tired I'm getting 
houldin' this so long.' 

** * Port arms,' shouts the general, as if on parade. 

"'Sure, I can't, till yer passed,' says my father, an- 
grily, * and my hand's trembling already.' 

** * By heavens! I shall be shot,' says the general. 

'* * Be gorra, it's what I'm afraid of,' says my father; 
and the words wasn't out of his mouth before off 
went the musket bang, and down fell the general 
smack on the ground, senseless. Well, the orderly ran 
out at this, and took him up and examined his wound ; 
but it wasn't a wound at all, only the wadding of the 
gun, for my father — God be kind to him — ye see, could 
do nothing right, and so he bit off the wrong end of 

A ^ 



The affect precedes and determines the effect. — Moses True Brown. 



64 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

the cartridge when he put it in the gun, and by reason 
there was no bullet in it ! Well, from that day after they 
never got sight of him, for the instant the general 
dropped, he ran away; and what between living in a 
lime-kiln for two months, eating nothing but blackber- 
ries and sloes, and other disguises, he never returned to 
the army, but ever after tuk .to a civil situation, and 
driv a hearse for many years." 



VOICES OF THE WILDWOOD. 



Ella Sterling Cummins. 



[To recite this poem well a certain airiness, lightness, and spon- 
taneity is required. There must be no conventional *' ha! ha!" in the 
laughter, but rather a gleeful, childish chuckle. The " voices " are half 
sung, half spoken. The first one, the meadow-lark, is especially queer 
in its notes, being sort of slurred into each other. For this reason, it is 
a little difficult; and yet, because of its originality and simplicity of 
sentiment, very taking with an audience.] 

A S I was w^andering through a wood, 
All dark and dense and wild, 
I came upon a palace wall, 

And found myself beguiled 
By the bubbling notes of innocence — 
The laughter of a child. 

Safe was she within her world, 

And I was just outside ; 
To me she seemed a fairy child, 

It cannot be denied, 
For she was calling flocks of birds 

That came from far and wide. 



One can only apj>reciate the importance of an act when he takes into account 
the nature of its agents, — Delsakte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 65 

A merry, trilling cry 

Came o'er the palace wall ; 
*^ Ah ! ha ! ha ! here am I ! 

Why, don't you hear me call ? 
Come froggy, birdlings, squirrel, too .! 
Don't you hear me calling you ? 

" Ah ! ha ! ha ! come this way, 

You darlings, every one, 
I'm broken-hearted quite to-day, 

The clouds are o'er the sun." 
Then rose a sudden sound of glee. 



fciat 



-» 



-^^1. 



^ -^ " ^^i— ^ — V — ^ 



^' Sweet? Well! what do you think of me 1 
\^l77iitation of meadow-lark^ half spoken, half sung.'] 

** Oh ! meadow-lark, you darling dear ! 

You're always first to speak ; 
Come rest upon my shoulder, here. 

And press against my cheek." 
And then she sang most merrily, 
** Sweet ? Well I what do you think of me V 
\_Same notes as before.'] 

" Old froggy, down there wet and cool, 

Now what have you to say ? 
Are you happy in your pool. 

And how do you feel to-day ?" 
The frog his sweetest tune now tried, 
But *^ Ugly I ugly ! ugly T hoarse he cried. 



What ive produce is merely the form of what exists in our minds. — Gene- 
vieve Stebbins. 



66 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

"I'm sorry !" then responded she, 

Yet laughing at the jest, 
"OhJ faithful wood-dove, answer me ! 

Whom do you love the best ?" 
The bird puffed out his purple sheen. 
And cooed, " My que-en ! my que-en ! my que-enr 

** You frisky squirrel on the wall. 

Have you no message, say ? 
Some message from the tree-tops tall, 

To lonesome Deirdre ?" 
The squirrel sat with tail upcurled, 
" Come up ! come up ! C07ne up and see the world j^'^ 

" Oh ! tiny bird* with nodding head, 

What fate is waiting me ? 
Shall my true love and I be wed ? 

Oh ! what is fate's decree ?" 
The brown bird moaned as he sang above. 



WE^- 



->-^- 



■^-^f- 



-fr- 



-#— ^ 



:^ 



** Farewell^ my love^ Farewell^ 7ny love " 

I turned away, I had no choice ; 

For I could not bear to stay 
And hear the sobs of that childish voice, 

The child in her sad dismay. 
And the brown bird moaned in the tree above, 
" Fare%vell^ my love ! Farewell^ my love /" 
\Same notes as befo7'e.'\ 

* A tiny species of fly-catcher found in the Sierras. 



Semeiotics is the science of the organic signs by which cesthetics must study 
inherent fitness. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 67 

TEN ROBBER TOES. 

LiLLiE E. Barr. 



T^HERE is a story that I have been told, 
And it's just as old as babies are old, 
For sweet Mother Eve, as everyone knows. 
Told her babies the tale of the toes. 

Told to her babies how ten little toes, 
Each one as pink as the pinkest pink rose, 
Once on a time were naughty and bad ; 
And sorrow and trouble in consequence had. 

How this big toe wanted butter and bread, 
After his mamma had put him to bed ; 
And this lying next said: *^ S'posen we go 
Down to the pantry and get it, you know." 

And this wicked toe cried, "^ Come along, quick-; 
Let's sugar the butter ever so thick." 
And this naughty toe cried: ^^ Jelly for me 
Top of the butter and bread, you see." 

And this little toe cried: ^^ Goody, let's go, 
We'll slip down the stairs so quiet and slow." 
So ten robber toes, all tipped with red. 
Stole silently out of their snowy white bed. 

While this wicked toe, so jolly and fat. 
Helped nine naughty toes to pitty-pat-pat 
Along the big hall, with pillars of white, 
And down the back stairs devoid of light. 



By gesture^play of countenance^ and tone of voice^ we can tell what a tnan 
I thinks^ feels ^ or wills; but by his physiognomy and the automatic movements 
of his body, we can tell what he is.—T. M. Balliet. 



68 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Then this little toe got a terrible scare, 
For he thought in the dark of a grizzly bear. 
And this little toe said : *' Nurse must be right 
That goblins and witches are living at night." 

And this little toe said : "' A fox may be hid 
In the hat-rack box right under the lid." 
And this little toe cried : ^^ Dearie me, oh ! 
Lions and tigers is coming, I know." 

Then mamma came out with the beautiful light. 
Caught ten robber toes all ready for flight, 
Yes, she caught and she kissed those ten robber toes, 
Till redder they were than any red rose. 



HER LOVERS. 



M 



' Y first, my very first, his name was Will — 
A handsome fellow, fair, with curly hair 
And lovely eyes; I have his locket still. 

He went to Galveston and settled there, 
Or so I heard; oh, dear me ! dear me ! 
How terribly in love he used to be. 

My second, Robert Hill, he told his love 

The first time that we met — 'twas at a ball ; 

A foolish fellow — he carried off my glove. 
We sat out half the dances in the hall, 
_ ^ . 4 

The artist^ deprived of the knoivledge of a criterion ivhich governs his art^ I 
and to which he should submit all his nvork^ can never be more than the ser- 
vile and blind copyist of works produced in a former and more enlightened 
epoch. — Delsarte. I 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 69 

And flirted in a most outrageous way. 
Ah me ! how mother scolded all next day. 

The third woke up my heart. From night till morn 
And morn till night I dreamed alone of him. 

I treasured up a rosebud he had worn, 

And my tears and kisses made his picture dim. 

Strange that I can feel that old, old pain. 

When I remember Paul, — that was his name. 

My fourth and fifth were brothers, twins at that. 

Good fellows, kind and clever, too. 
It was rather shabby to refuse them flat, 

Both in one day, but what else could I do ? 
My heart was still with Paul, and he had gone 
Yacht-sailing with the Misses Garretson. 

He never cared for me, I found that out, 
Despite the foolish clinging of my hope ; 

'Twas proved to me, ere long, beyond a doubt. 
I steeled my heart. I would not fret nor mope, 

But masked myself in gayety and went 

To grace his wedding when the cards were sent. 

So these were all my loves. My husband ? Oh, 

I met him down in Florida, one fall, 
Rich, middle-aged, and prosy, as you know. 

He proposed, and I accepted ; that was all. 
A kind, good soul, he worships me; but, then, 
I never count him in with the other men. 



Gesture is not the accompaniment of speech. It must express the idea bet- T 
ier and in another luay, else it will be only a pleonasm^ an after conception of\ 
bad taste^ a hindrance rather than an aid to intelligible expression. — Delau- 
MOSNE. J 



^0 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

STANZAS TO ETERNITY. 



Translated by Elsie M.Wilbor. 



[The following poem is really intended for a song, and Delsarte 
composed a quaint melody for it. It is republished for the first time 
here, and is suitable for a recitation. Mme. Arnaud speaks of the 
attention attracted by Darcier by his rendering of these ' * Stanzas to 
Eternity." The picture accompanying this poem is a fac-simile of the 
engraving on the title-page of the music, and represents the scene in 
Delsarte's life where he had just buried his brother, and was overcome 
by cold and hunger. While in this fainting condition he had a dream 
in which angels revealed to him his life-work. — Editor.] 

f~\ MAN who art nursed by blind fortune, 
^^^ And thinkest forever its joys to possess! 
The cries of the wretched importune, 

Thy heart is close shut to their tales of distress. 

CHORUS. 

Rich, heedless one, go; for thy heart is of stone; 
Sweet charity's promptings thou never hast known. 
But pause and reflect — all on earth fades away. 
Eternity comes; oh, think well whilst thou may. 

When gayly thou'rt dancing, look yonder; 

For stealing away in the lamps* brilliant light 
A man old and ragged — oh, ponder, — 

Is starving and cold, a most pitiful sight! 

That child o'er his mother's grave bending, 

And off'ringall shiv'ring his thin hands for alms. 

At dawn will to heaven be ascending, 

Thy fingers drop naught in his cold, trembling palms. 



Art is not., as z's said., an imitation of nature. It elei'ates in idealizing her: 
it is the synthetic rapport of the scattered beauties of stature to a superior 
afid definite type. — Delsarte. 
. 4, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



;i 










p-^-^**- "^^ T 



Like him from great Nature proceeding 

All naked, in spite of thy poor, foolish pride; 

The tomb, toward which all life is leading. 
Will gather thy dust to his now despised side. 



I TAe skade, that exquisite portion o/art which is rather felt than expressed^ 
is the characteristic sign of the perfectio7i of talent; it forms apart of the 
personality of the artist. — Arnaud. 



72 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

ABSOLUTION. 



E. Nesbit. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 

T^HREE months had passed since she had knelt be- 
^ fore 

The grate of the confessional, and he, 
The priest, had wondered why she came no more 

To tell her sinless sins — the vanity 
Whose valid reason graced her simple dress, 

The prayers forgotten, or the untold beads — 

The little thoughtless words, the slight misdeeds, 
Which made the sum of her unrighteousness. 

She was the fairest maiden in his fold. 

With her sweet mouth and musical pure voice. 
Her deep gray eyes, her hair's tempestuous gold, 

Her gracious, graceful figure's perfect poise. 
Her happy laugh, her wild, unconscious grace, 

Her gentle ways to old, or sick, or sad. 

The comprehending sympathy she had, 
Had made of her the idol of the place. 

And when she grew so silent and so sad. 
So thin and quiet, pale and hollow-eyed. 

And cared no more to laugh and to be glad 
With other maidens by the waterside, 

All wondered; kindly grieved the elders were, 
And some few girls went whispering about, 
"She loves — who is it? Let us find it out !" 

But never dared to speak of it to her. 



Science elevates man by subjecting to hitn the things of this tvorld. Art su- 
I pernaturalizes those things by identifying him with them. — Delsarte. 




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DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 73 

But the priest's duty bade him seek her out 

And say, ^^ My child, why dost thou sit apart ? 
Hast thou some grief? Hast thou some secret doubt? 

Come and unfold to me thine inmost heart. 
God's absolution can assuage all grief 

And all remorse and woe beneath the sun. 

Whatever thou hast said, or thought, or done, 
The holy church can give thy soul relief." 

He stood beside her, young and strong, and swayed 

With pity for the sorrow in her eyes. 
Which, as she raised them to his own, conveyed 

Into his soul a sort of sad surprise. 
She answered, "I will come ;" and so at last 

Out of the summer evening's crimson glow, 

With heart reluctant and with footsteps slow, 
Into the cool, great, empty church she passed. 

"By my own fault, my own most grievous fault, 

I cannot say, for it is not," she said. 
Kneeling within the gray stone chapel's vault, 

And on the ledge her golden hair was spread. 
" Love broke upon me in a dream ; it came 

Without beginning, for to me it seemed 

That never otherwise than as I dreamed 
Through all my life this thing had been the same. 

** I only knew my heart, entire, complete, 

Was given to my other self, my love ; 
That I through all the world would gladly move 

So I might follow his adored feet. 
I dreamed I had all earth, all time, all space. 



Almost all sinuousness defends on the easy control of the tfiuscles at the 
waist. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



74 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

And every blessing, human and divine ; 
But hated the possessions that were mine, 
And only cared for his beloved face. 

" I never knew I loved him till that dream 

Drew from my eyes the veil, and left me wise. 
What I had thought was reverence grew to seem 

Only my lifelong love in thin disguise. 
And in my dream it looked so sinless, too, 

So beautiful, harmonious, and right ; 

The vision faded with the morning light, 
The love will last as long as I shall do." 

** Child, have you prayed against it ?" *^ Have I prayed ? 

Have I not clogged my very soul with prayer ; 
Stopped up my ears with sound of praying ; made 

My very body faint with kneeling there 
Before the sculptured Christ, and all for this. 

That when my lips can pray no more, and sleep 

Shuts my unwilling eyes, my love will leap 
To dreamland's bounds, to meet me with his kiss ! 

*^ Avoid him? Ay, in dewy garden walk 
How often have I strayed, avoiding him. 

And heard his voice mix with the common talk. 
Yet never turned his way. My eyes grow dim 

With weeping over what I lose by day 
And find by night, yet never have to call 
My own. O God ! is there no help at all — 

No hope, no chance, and no escapeful way?'* 

" And who is he to whom thy love is given ?" 

" What ? Holy church demands to know his name ? 



// is by means of art that the artist trans/ortns and animates inorganic 
bodies^ in stamping upon them the character of his life^ his soul^ and his 
mind. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 75 

No rest for me on earth, no hope of heaven 

Unless I tell it ? Ah, for very shame 
I cannot — yet why not ? — I will — I can ! 

I have grown mad with brooding on my curse. 

Here ! Take the name ; no better and no worse 
My case will be. Father, thou art the man !" 

'An icy shock shivered through all his frame — 

An overwhelming, cold astonishment ; 
But on the instant the revulsion came. 

His blood felt v/hat her revelation meant. 
" Lord Christ," his soul cried, while his heart beat fast, 

" Give strength in this, my hour of utmost need ;" 

And with the prayer strength came to him indeed. 
And with calm voice he answered her at last: 

" Child, go in peace ! Wrestle and w^atch and pray, 
And I will spend this night in prayer for thee. 

That God will take thy strange great grief away. 
Thou hast confessed thy sin. Absolvo te'' 

Silence most absolute a little while. 

Then passed the whisper of her trailing gown 
Over the knee-worn stones, and soft died down 

The dim, deserted, incense-memoried aisle. 

All night he lay upon the chancel fioor. 

And coined his heart in tears and prayers, and new, 
Strange longings he had never known before, 

Her very memory so thrilled him through. 
He lay so tempest-tossed, *twas still without. 

And moaned: ^* Oh, God! I love her, love her so! 

Oh, for one spark of heaven's fire to show 
Some way to cast this devil's passion out ! 



It is no longer vtan as type of a class or vtember of a monarchy^ but man as 
an independent individual^ whose art is in process of conception. — Franklin 
H. Sargent. 



'jG DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

" Christ, by Thy passion, by Thy death for men, 
Oh, save me from myself, save her from me !" 

And at the word the moon came out again 
From her cloud-palace, and threw suddenly 

A shadow from the great cross overhead 
Upon the priest ; and with it came a sense 
Of strength renewed, of perfect confidence 

In Him who on that cross for men hung dead. 

But as the ghostly moon began to fade, 

And moonlight glimmered into ghostlier dawn, 

The shadow that the crucifix had made 

With twilight mixed ; and with it seemed withdrawn 

The peace that with its shadowy shape began. 
And as the dim east brightened, slowly ceased 
The wild devotion that had filled the priest — 

And with full sunlight he sprang up — a man ! 

He strode straight down the church and passed along 
The grave-set garden's dewy grass-grown slope ; 

The woods about were musical with song. 

The world was bright with youth, and love, and hope. 

Soon would he see her — cry, "I am thine own, 
As thou art mine, now, and forevermore !'* 
And at her worshipped feet would kneel before, 

And she should kiss the lips that had not known 

The kiss of love in any vanished year. 

And as he dreamed of his secured delight, 
A mourning band, and in their midst a bier. 

Round the curved road came slowly into sight. 
He hastened to pass on ; a covering-fold 

Veiled the dead, quiet face — and yet — and yet — 



One of two things is necessary in art: either that the divine work to be con- 
templated shall be abased to the level of man; or that he elevate himself to 
its height. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, yy 

Did he not know that hand, so white and wet? 
Did he not know those dripping curls of gold ? 

"We came to you to know what we should do, 
Father : we found her body in the stream, 

And how it happed, God knows !" One other knew — 
Knew that of him had been her last wild dream — 

Knew the full reason of that life-disdain — 

Knew how the shame of hopeless love confessed 
And unreturned had seemed to stain her breast. 

Till only death should make her clean again. 

They left her in the church where sunbeams bright 

Gilded the wreathed oak and carven stone 
With golden floods of consecrating light ; 

And here at last, together and alone, 
The lovers met, and here upon her hair 

He set his lips, and, dry-eyed, kissed her face, 

And in the stillness of the holy place 
He spoke in tones of bitter, blank despair : 

" Oh, lips so quiet, eyes that will not see ! 

Oh, clinging hands that not again will cling ! 
This last poor sin may well be pardoned thee. 

Since for the right's sake thou hast done this thing. 
Oh, poor weak heart, forever laid to rest. 

That could no longer strive against its fate, 

For thee high heaven will unbar its gate. 
And thou shalt enter in and shalt be blessed. 

"The chances were the same for us," he said, 

"Yet thou hast w^on, and I have lost, the whole ; 
Thou would'st not live in sin, and thou art dead — 
* : : + 

I When the being contemplates^ or is filled ivtth the 7najesty and power of a I 
great cause, as a love of liberty, or of loyalty to conscience and duty, or of\ 
obedience to God, all the agents of expression stand i7i poise or equilibrium. — 

I Moses True Brown. I 

^ * 



78 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

But I — against thee I have weighed my soul, 
And, losing thee, have lost my soul as well. 

I have cursed God, and trampled on His cross ; 

Earth has no measurement for all my loss. 
But I shall learn to measure it in hell !'* 



LADIES OF ATHENS. 



Mrs. M. a. Lipscomb. 



Scene. — Home of Xanthippe, wife of Socrates, 

CHARACTERS. 

Xanthippe Wife of Socrates. 

Aspasia Wife of Pericles. 

Sappho, Poetess. 

Philesia Wife of Xenophon. 

Pythias Wife of Aristotle. 

Cleobula Sister of Demosthenes. 

Damophila Wife of Damophilus and rival of Sappho. 

Nicostrata Wife of Sophocles. 

COSTUMES. 

[The costumes are all Greek, with variations of draping and color. 
Xanthippe's dress should be slightly shabby. Statuary against a crim- 
son curtain forms the background of the scene. Young ladies and 
children draped and mounted on pedestals, singly or in groups, for the 
statues.] 

"V' ANTHIPPE. Life is an absolute burden, and I am 
wearied with it. Here I am shut up within these 
four walls, robbed of the luxuries that my friends en- 
joy, with barely enough comforts to keep body and soul 
together, while Socrates, my husband, shiftless wretch 
that he is, wanders about the streets of Athens prating 
of justice and injustice, truth and falsehood, poverty 
and wealth, and so long as he can find listeners to his 
wild philosophies he cares not how fares it with me at 



The artist should first know what he ought to seek in the subject : and, sec- j 
ondly, know where to find what he seeks. He must have, in the first place, 
the faithful signal of the sought for thing: in the second place, the means of\ 
surely finding it. — Delsarte. I 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 79 

home. For months I haven't had a single drachma of 
his earnings; and for a whole year one mina is all that 
he has given to our support, and that was not the fruit 
of his own labor, but sent him by a generous friend! 
And yet we must be fed. "Not live to eat," he would 
say, but " eat to live." To-day he will come home and 
expect to find the pot boiling and enjoy his savory soup 
and well-cooked barley bread; and if I perchance utter 
a single word of complaint, I am called a scold, a terma- 
gant, and told that Socrates married Xanthippe in order 
that she might discipline his temper! Oh, if I could 
only make him angry for once, how happy, how su- 
premely happy I should be! 

\Enter Aspasia.] 

Xan. Why, good-morrow! you are most welcome. 
How fares it with you and your lord to-day, and where- 
fore this pleasure you have bestowed on me ? 

Aspasia. I have come to praise your husband. Know 
you not that while you sit quietly here at home, Athens is 
fairly wild about him ? As I passed by the market- 
place I beheld a vast concourse of people. Men were 
fairly pushing each other aside in their eagerness to 
hear. I asked what had brought the people together, 
and was told more than once that it was to listen to 
Socrates's teachings. As for Pericles, my husband, I but 
rarely see him now. Once I could interest him on the 
subject of oratory, and we often read and studied to- 
gether; but now he thinks there is no wisdom except 
what proceeds from the mind of Socrates. 

Xan. Oh, Aspasia, it frets me to hear of this. If 
Pericles would only teach Socrates that women and 



I True passion^ which never errs^ has no need of recurring to the study of 
what function nature has assigned to the eye^ the nose^ the vtouth^ in the ex- 
pression of certain emotions of the soul: but they are indispensable to the 
feigned Passion of the actor. — A. Gueroult. 
^ rz ^ 



8o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

children cannot dine or sup off philosophy, he would 
prove himself a benefactor as well as a teacher. 

Asp. But, Xanthippe, are you not proud of his fame ? 
Plato fairly worships him. He likens him to the masks 
of Silenus which may be seen sitting in the statuaries 
and shops, having pipes and flutes in their mouths; but 
they are made to open, and inside of them are images of 
gods. 

Xan. Aspasia, no; I am not proud of a husband who 
goes about the market-place in one garment, barefooted 
and bareheaded; who teaches that self-denial is the 
sublimest virtue, and that poverty is the greatest bless- 
ing. If you would be happy, keep Pericles away from 
him. 

Asp. Plato thinks him a more wonderful flute-player 
than Marsyas; for Socrates, he says, moves the souls of 
men simply with his voice without the aid of instru- 
ment, and he swears that he could grow old sitting at 
your husband's feet. He says, too, that Socrates is the 
only man that he ever envied, and who has ever made 
him ashamed of himself. 

Xan. Plato knows not whereof he speaks. Would to 
Zeus he were a woman and had married Socrates! But 
here comes Sappho. [^Enter Sappho.] Welcome, sweet 
poetess! Violets crown Sappho! Your presence always 
gladdens my heart and brings sunshine to my home. 

Asp. Good-morrow, friend; I find Xanthippe in too 
practical a mood to-day to enjoy hearing her husband 
praised. She thinks she would love him better if he had 
a little less wisdom and philosophy and a little more 
fish and fowl for dinner. 

Sappho. Fie, Xanthippe! Would you have your 

t!U _ — -^ 

Asa knowledge of the parts of speech is not enough to make a writer, so ex- 
ercises practiced mechanically with a view to the management of sound can 
\ 7tever produce artists.— 'Dri.skrt-e. 



^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 8l 

husband a fishmonger, a butcher, or a baker? He who 
feeds the body is no more than these. He who feeds the 
mind is best worthy of our thanks. Your husband is 
something above the common herd. "He walks in air 
and contemplates the sun." 

Xan, Sweet, smiling Sappho, that will not do for a 
man of earth. High-soaring thoughts and words of 
wisdom will never be taken in exchange for bakers' and 
butchers' bills. Sappho, never marry a philosopher. 

Sap. Xanthippe, you do not value your husband as 
you should. Philosophers are kings, and should have 
crovv-ns and be enthroned. The only hope that we have 
for our state is to encourage learning and crush out 
ignorance. Let Socrates teach the people, for wisdom 
hangs upon his lips, the light of knowledge is in his eye, 
and he alone is able to draw all men after him. 

Asp. Well spoken, pure Sappho, for none can be 
compared to the noble Socrates. He has learned the 
greatest, the hardest lesson of life — how to rule him- 
self. Had he given to Athenian youths but one precept, 
that of " Know thyself," he would be as immortal as 
the gods themselves. 

Xan. Will you ladies dine with me ? Perhaps you 
will change your views to-morrow. But pardon, I see 
yonder Damophila and Nicostrata. \Enter Damophila 
a;?^NicoSTRATA.] Welcome, fair ladies; Xanthippe can 
offer but small cheer to her friends, but always a most 
gracious welcome. You know these friends? \introduces 
theni] Aspasia, the wife of our noble Pericles, and 
Sappho, our violet-crowned poetess. 

[Damophila sees Sappho and shows evident stg?ts of jeal- 
ousy^ 
^ ^ ; ^ ^ _^ 



The body is but the manifestation of the soul. It is the form under which I 
the soul projects itself as it were, ifito space and time, the vzedium through 
which it communicates with the vtaterial world and with other souls like it- \ 
self—T. M. Balliet. 



-4- 



84 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- 
less." 
\All assume a thoughtful attitude; finally Aspasia speaks?^ 

Asp. I never solved a riddle in all my life; they make 
my head ache. 

Sap. Methinks this wonderful creature must be our 
neighbor dog, for he once walked upon four feet, now 
walks upon three, and daytime and night-time his voice 
is ever unchanging. 

Xan. Well answered, Sappho; you must be sleepless 
o' nights, and doubtless think the bark of a dog more 
terrific than his bite. 

Sap. In truth I do. Xanthippe, that dog has well 
nigh crushed all the poetry out of my nature, and made 
me half wish that I had been born deaf. 

Nic. Come, ladies, the riddle is yet unsolved. *^ There 
lives upon the earth a being, two-footed; yea, and with 
four feet; yea, and with three feet, too, yet his voice 
continues unchanging. And lo! of all things that move 
in earth, in heaven, or in ocean, he only changes his 
nature, and yet when on most feet he walketh, then is 
the speed of his limbs most weak and utterly power- 
less." 

Dam. I have it: Man it is thou hast described, who, 
when on earth he appeareth, first as a babe on hands 
and knees, four-footed, creeps on his way; then when 
old age Cometh on and the burden of years weighs full 
heavy, bending his shoulders and neck, as a third foot 
uses his staff. 

YAH clap hands and cry '''Bravo! bravo T' except Savvylo.'] 

Sap. Her answer is a man, of course. 



Gesture is parallel to the impression received; it is therefore always an- 
terior to speech^ which is but a reflected and subordinate expression.— Y)k\^- 

SARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 85 

Nic. Damophila, you have solved the Sphinx's rid- 
dle. When I take your answer home, Socrates will be 
compelled to own that the wife of one of Athens' wisest 
philosophers is wiser than her husband. Know you 
not, ladies, that yesterday at a symposium at our house 
Sophocles gave the Sphinx riddle to a party of friends, 
and not one of them could divine a meaning in it? 

Dam. Had the answer been a woman they had not 
been so dull. But, Xanthippe, when your husband re- 
turns give it him. His thoughts travel beyond other 
men's thoughts, and he may find a deeper meaning than 
I have given to the riddle. 

Xan. Here comes Philesia. She too, perhaps, comes 
to tell me of some new trick of my husband whereby he 
may catch the people. \Enter Philesia.] Good-morrow, 
Philesia. 

Philesia. Good-morrow, ladies all. You wonder, 
Xanthippe, what has brought me hither at this hour of 
the day. My dinner is cooked to a crisp, and I am as 
hungry as a wolf. I was wearied with watching and 
waiting for my husband, and I wandered out on the 
street to know wherefore he did not come. As I passed 
the market-place I beheld a vast concourse of people, 
and I knew my husband, must be there. I concealed 
myself as near the people as I dared, where I could see 
and be unseen, and this is what I saw and what I heard. 
Socrates, your husband, bareheaded, barefooted, was 
mounted on a rude platform in earnest discourse; the 
people were so eager to drink in what he said, that they 
did not note anything that was passing in the street. I 
saw Xenophon seated at the feet of Socrates, busily 
writing all that he said. I was afraid to linger, but I 

t — — : — ~ '. 

The essential point is to get back to the truths to express the passions and 
emotions as nature manifests thefft^ and not to repeat mechanically a series 
0/ conventional proceedings which are violatiotiso/ the natural law. — Arnaud. 



86 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

heard Socrates say: " We have two ears and one mouth, 
that we may hear much and talk little." 

Xan. Oh, would that he practiced all of his precepts! 
Philesia, if Xenophon would only encourage Socrates to 
go back to. his trade and give up preaching and teach- 
ing, he should have Xanthippe's heart's best blessing. 
1 Phil. But, Xanthippe, your husband's talent lies not 
in sculpture. He was born a philosopher; and would 
you cheat the age of his golden thoughts for the few 
paltry drachmas that he might earn by following his 
trade ? 

Xan. Philesia, golden thoughts do not satisfy hunger. 

Sap. Come, come, Xanthippe, you should be proud 
to feed the philosopher who feeds the world. 

Xan. a man's home should be his world. He who 
provides not for his own household is worse than an 
infidel. 

Asp. Tut, tut, Xanthippe; it grieves me to hear you 
talk thus. Come and dine with us to-morrow and hear 
your husband praised. These ladies, too, I hope will 
honor me. Plato, Pericles, and Xenophon shall all be 
there; and when you shall have heard them extol your 
husband's virtues, you will feel proud to be called wife 
by the foremost man in all Greece. Will you come ? 

Xan. I cannot; it shames me to say that I have no 
gown other than the one I wear. 

Asp. Then Socrates will honor us by his presence ? 

Xan. He shall not; his clothing is no better than a 
beggar's. 

\Enter Pythias, wife of Aristotle?^ 

Xan. Why, here comes Pythias ! She, too, has 
brought me tidings of my crazy husband. 



The artist should have three objects: To move^ to interest, to persuade. He 
interests by language: he moves by thought; he moves^ interests, and persuades 
by gesture. — Delsarte. 
, _ 4, 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 87 

Pythias. Not crazy, Xanthippe, but absolutely un- 
like any other human being that is or ever has been. 
You may imagine Brasidas to have been like Achilles, 
but to your strange husband you will never be able to 
find any likeness, however remote, either among men 
who now are or who have ever been. I heard my hus- 
band, Aristotle, say of him, and he is no mean philos- 
opher himself, that the words of Socrates seem ridicu- 
lous when you first hear them, for he clothes himself in 
language that is as the wanton satyr. He talks of 
smiths, cobblers, and curriers^ and he is always repeat- 
ing the same things in the same words, so that an igno- 
rant m^an who did not know him might be disposed to 
laugh at him. 

Xan. Pythias, Socrates is crazy; and when you go 
home, tell Aristotle that Xanthippe, his wife, says she 
wishes he would blister Socrates' head ! 

Py. Fie, fie, Xanthippe ! how wrong you are. You 
are out of patience with your husband, and, like the 
garbling multitude, see only the outer man. Plato says 
he who pierces the mask and sees what lies within 
will find that Socrates' words are the only ones which 
have any meaning in them; that his wisdom is di- 
vine. 

Xan. O, Pythias ! if Socrates w^ould think less and 
w^ork more I should like him far better as a husband. 
Do you ladies know that he has not been home since 
yester morn at breakfast ? I am told that he stood all 
night on the market-place thinking over some problem 
concerning the life of the soul after the death of the 
body; and to-day he is still standing there prating his 
wild theories to a crowd of listening fools. 



You cannot in an instant prepare the human body for the translation, 
through that grand interprete'f-^ art^ of the best possibilities of the soul. 
There is too much imperfection in our nature. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



88 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

[Enter Cleobula, the sister of Demosthenes^ bearing a beau- 
tiful basket of fruity 

Cleobula. Good-morrow, Xantliippe. Demosthenes* 
my brother, has just returned from the market-place, 
where he has stood all night watching your husband, 
deep in thought, waiting to hear him speak. He says 
that the streets were filled with people all night long; 
that they brought their mats and rugs and spread them 
upon the ground, and that not an eye was closed or an 
ear deaf during the whole night. Socrates stood silent, 
deep in thought. To-day light seems to have come to 
him, and he has been talking for hours. He has told 
such a beautiful story about a life beyond the grave; of 
this spirit, this soul that is within us, that shall never 
die. Demosthenes says that Athens has gone mad over 
Socrates; that his doctrines are so new, so beautiful, so 
comforting, that if he but command the people, they 
would fall down and worship him as a god. 

Xan. Tell Demosthenes Xanthippe says, make Soc- 
rates go to work. This is the message from his starving 
wife. 

Cle. I dare not go home with such a message. See 
here, he has sent this basket of fruit. When he gave it 
me he said: " Take you this to Xanthippe; hasten, sister 
mine, to bear my gratulations to the wisest man in all 
of Greece.'* Will you have it ? 

Xan. Cleobula, I do not take it because I am proud 
of being the wife of Socrates, but because I am starving 
and crave the food. Tell him that Demosthenes is a 
greater benefactor than Socrates, for he feeds the wife 
whom Socrates would starve in order that Socrates 
might feed the world. 
^ _ — _ 



Form is the garb of substance. It is the expressive symbol of a mysterious 
truth. It is the trademark of a hidden virtue. It is the actuality of the be- 
ing. In a wordy form is the plastic art of the ideal. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 89 

Cle. It will not be long, I ween, befm*e your hus- 
band will return. The crowd had nearly all dispersed 
as I passed the market-place. I had one glimpse of 
Socrates, and he looked worn and famished. He will 
need refreshment when he returns, and will, no doubt, 
enjoy some of the fruit I have brought. 

Xan. Not a morsel of it shall he have. I will give 
him broth and barley bread, for that is better than he 
deserves. Look you, ladies, is not this fruit beautiful 
and tempting? Methinks if I could only be well fed off 
cooling fruits like these, I should not have such a hot 
and hasty temper. 

\Socrates is heard calling out, ^^ Xanthippe ! Xanthippe I 
Xanthippe .^"] 

Xan. Hark, was that not my husband's voice ? 

Asp. His call is weak and faint; answer him, Xan- 
thippe. A good wife regardeth the call of her husband. 

[^Socrates calls, ^' Xanthippe ! Xanthippe I Xanthippe .^"] 

Sap. Xanthippe, I pray you heed your husband's 
call. 

Phil. Were it my husband, I should hasten to meet 
him. 

l^Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .^"] 

Pv. I have no husband; but methinks that if I did 
have one, I should run to meet him before he had occa- 
sion to call. 

\^Socrates calls, " Xanthippe ! Xanthippe I Xanthippe .^"] 

Asp. Woman, I pray you go to your husband. 

Sap. You are unworthy of such a husband, and the 
gods should curse you for it. 

Xan. Sappho, she who comes between husband and 
wife treads upon a dangerous sea. I know my duty. 



The foUo'wers o/ art should be able^ before and aboTe all, to portray human- 
ity in its essential trttth, and according to the original tendency of each type. 
Mannerism and affectation should forever be proscribed — unless they are ifni- 
tated as an exercise. — Arnaud. 



90 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Phil. I pray you do it, then. 

\^Socrates calls ^ ^' Xanthippe I Xanthippe ! Xanthippe .^"] 

Py. By all that is holy, I pray you answer your 
husband. 

Cle. Go get him food and drink. 

\^Socr ate s calls ^ ''''Xanthippe! Xa^tthippe ! Xanthippe r'\ 

Dam. Xanthippe, if you are human, go to your hus- 
band. Were he a dog and did bark in a piteous way, I 
should give him food and drink. You are no more than 
an ingrate to scorn a man whom all Athens is ready to 
fall down and worship as a god. Were I Socrates, I 
should never call you wife, for you are a libel on such a 
sacred name. Woman, go to your husband. 

Xan. Who commands Xanthippe ? Damophila, you 
are a guest beneath my roof, or else that speech had 
been your last. 

Dam. Pardon me again, Xanthippe. I, like you, have 
too hot and hasty a temper. I should have entreated, 
not commanded. Socrates is your husband; you are 
bound to him by ties the strongest and holiest; he is 
weary and sick, and needs your service; I pray you go 
to him. 

[^Socrates calls, '^Xanthippe I Xa?ithippe I Xanthippe T'^ 

Nic. Xanthippe, all men are human. Socrates is a 
man, and therefore he is human. I beg you go to him 
and minister unto him. 

[Socrates calls, ^^ Xanthippe I Xaiithippe ! Xanthippe P'^ 

Xan. Sir, did you call? 

Socrates \behind the scenes, in a weak voice']. Dearest 
mine, I am sick and weak; a little soup and barley 
bread, if you please. 

Xan. a little soup and barley bread ! I would you 

3 , ■ 

Gesture is the direct agent of the heart. It is the Jit manifestation of feel- 
ing. It is the revealer of thought^ and the covtmcntator u/>o?i speech. It is 
the elliptical expression of speech. It is the justification of the additional 
meanings of speech. In a word^ it is the spirit of which speech is merelj' the 
letter. — Dels arte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 91 

were not so easily contented. You wretched man of 
dreams, if you would but turn your thoughts from 
heaven to earth, your table might be fit for kings. Yes, 
I'll come. I'll feed you until you are well satisfied and 
ready to go again to the market-place to spend the 
night in thinking,thinking, thinking. 
[ Curtain falls. ] 



THE DOLL DRILL. 



Adelaide Norris. 



T7OR the best effect in this charming drill, the girls 
^ should be chosen of different heights, the tallest 
pair in the centre, and the tiny ones at both ends. 
Their ages range between 8 and 12 years. They are 
dressed in black paper cambric dresses, made plain, 
with full skirts reaching to within three inches of the 
floor. The white nurse-apron should be at the same 
distance from the bottom of the dresses, and tie with 
strings of the same width. White mull kerchiefs around 
the shoulders, and white caps, complete the costumes. 
The dolls wear ** baby dresses" of muslin, six inches 
below their feet. I find this a convenient length for 
handling ; besides, it looks well. 

They have no captain, and no one counts for them or 
calls the changes. A very slow march is best. When 
all have marked time, the signal is given, and they 
come out in pairs, the tallest leading. The dolls are 
carried on the left arm, with the right arm placed over 
them. The eyes of the nurses rest on the dolls until 
thev face the audience. 



Conscious ine7ttal states are manifested by the play of the countenance^ by 
the tones of the voice ^ and by gesture. Unconscious mental states,, such as fixed 
forms or types of character,, whether of thotight,, ejnotion,, or will,, manifest 
themselves in physiognomy and the autojnatic 7novements of the body. — T. M. 
Balliet. 



92 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

1. March to centre, turn square corner, step to the 
front of stage ; line divide in two divisions, march to 
right and left, turn, march half-way to the back, turn 
toward centre of stage, meet, march in pairs to the 
back. Then separate, march along the back to the 
outer sides of stage, then across the end nearly to the 
front. 

2. March toward each other, but pass by. At the 
edge turn and march back as if to meet, but pass and 
turn once more. Then meet, and face the audience 
without signal. 

The music, in quadruple time, should be rather slow. 
My pupils took their signal from the fourth note of the 
first measure, and were ready for the first full measure. 
I found the most difficulty in getting the faces expres- 
sive and keeping the eyes of the nurses on the infants. 

Movements. 
Dolls on Arms as in March. 

I. Present. Clasp dolls with both hands, at the waist ; 
on I hold at arm's length till 3 ; then bring back to 
chin. Repeat three times. Bring doll back to position 
on shoulder on third beat of fourth measure. (Repeat I.) 

II. Support. Hold dolls at arm's length like a young 
baby, lying down on the left hand and forearm. On 3 
swing back to left hip. Repeat three times. On 3 of 
fourth measure bring to position at the shoulder. (Re- 
peat II.) 

III. Toss. Toss dolls four times, two beats; rest four 
beats. Repeat three times. The left hand should sup- 
port the doll, the right hand in front at the waist. This 
movement is very pretty if the nurses look animated. 
(Repeat III.) 

IV. Affection. Hold dolls at the front, two counts, 
bring back and kiss, two counts. Repeat, filling four 
measures. (Repeat IV.) 



-A 



Lack of elasticity in a body is disagreeable from the fact that, lacking sup- 
pleness^ it seejns as if it viust^ in fallings be broken^ fattened^ or injured: in 
a ivord., must lose so7nething of the integrality of its form. — Delsakte. 

^ . . 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 93 

V. Obedience. Hold doll in left hand at the waist 
straight out in front ; with the forefinger of the right 
hand make the gesture to indicate that doll must obey. 
Make eight movements ; return doll to position ; rest 
two measures. Faces of nurses expressive. (Repeat V.) 

VI. Bows. Dolls face audience and bow, four counts 
for each bow, four times. Position at shoulder, no rest. 
Nurses' heads tipped to one side as if looking to see the 
" pretty bows." (Repeat VI.) 

VII. Charge. Take doll in hands, the right hand over 
and the left hand under the doll, the feet on the nurse's 
left hip, the head pointing out a little obliquely like a 
'* bayonet charge." Stamp heavily with left foot, eight 
counts. Rest in position at shoulder, eight counts. 
(Repeat VII.) 

VIII. Compare. Nurses tip heads together, two by 
two ; place dolls side by side for comparison, with 
pleased expression. On ninth count, back in position. 
Rest two measures. (Repeat VIII.) 

IX. Displeasure. Hold dolls at arm's length, with ex- 
pression of displeasure, eight counts. Back in position, 
eight counts. (Repeat IX.) 

X. Forgiveness. Hold dolls at arm's length, eight 
counts ; hug during eight counts, with dolls' heads over 
left shoulder. (Repeat X.) 

Each movement requires 32 counts to make the music 
come out right. After a few rehearsals the children 
associate the movements with the music and need no 
** calls." 

After Movement X., the dolls are dropped to the 
position of Movement II., and swung gently, while the 
nurses sing one verse of Brahm's ** Lullaby," following 
it with the chorus of the Lullaby, from ^' Erminie." 
[The words and music for these are on pages 94, 95.] 
In this they are joined by an invisible chorus, singing 
the undertone ^^ bye-bye." On commencing this latter 
selection, the house is gradually darkened, and the 
nurses march off, swinging their infants, singing raore 
softly. 

^ A 

// is not ivhat we say that persuades^ hitt the uianuer of saying it. The 
mind can be interested by speech,, it must be persuaded by ^est^ire. If the face 
bears no sign ofpersuasioji, we do 7iot persuade. — Delaumosne. 
4, ^ 



94 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

LULLABY. 

Arranged from Brahms by 0. E. McFadon. 




1. Lul - la - by 

2. Lul - la -by and goocl-night Thy moth - er's de- 



ill 



:i^± 



-J:^- 



ifeit 



A=f^ 



i^EEBEF^EEEa; 



itit 



H*"-F 



^=^: 



Ei3; 



:S3 



*— •- 



-^- 



dight With lil-ies be - sted is ba-by's wee bed Lay thee 
light Bright angels a - round my dar-ling shall stand They will 



:s 



:fci&: 



3=:i=^=::Ej=^=H=£:^=3; 
-4 -m--9- -•- -#- -•- -&- -a- 



fLMz 



jLutL 



z-^- 



:± 



ft^- 



-ff — »- 



ET 



:^-^- 



ip^=^ 



down now and rest, May thy slnm-ber be blest Lay thee 

guard thee from harm Thou shalt wake in my arms They will 



j=:1: 



:^=:q=^= 



=t 



;tzit:^=L-4: 



iM=«tzit 



-^z 



i—ir 



.^=M- 



it 



-s^ 



down now and rest, May thy slum - ber be blest, 
guide thee from harm, Til oil shalt wake in my arms. 



:^=^: 



ti*_-i 



^ 



^=± 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



95 



LULLABY. 

Arranged from " Ermlnie" by O. E. McFadon. 



Chorus 
9P 






:^:^-^:^zp= 



^-^-1^—4 



;:^: 



Bye bye drowsiness o'ertaking, Pretty little eyelids sleep, 



^^# 



:=t 



;32p^rp^=idip^ 



ip^=l:p^ 



i^=b^ 



?ff^ 



Bye bye bye 



r 



bye Bye 



bye bye bye 



Sziii 



^^^^=^ii=^H 



-z;)--7^ 



dim. 



zp 



^^-^^P^ 



fct- 



fLz^J-* * ^ 






=0 



Bye bye watching till thou 'rt waking Darling he thy slumber deep. 



^^ 



^r-=r-= 



Bye bye bye 



T 



-B^~ 



%M- 



bye Bye 



bye bye. 



I 



pfe 



-Z5f- -25^ 



:=1= 






'-■m 



96 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE BELL OF INNISFARE. 



[There is a legend of the '* Bell of Innisfare," that if those who are 
in sickness and affliction can get some one to go and ring the bell on 
Christmas Eve, at twelve o'clock, there is a charm in the ringing at 
that particular hour which will restore all to health and happiness.] 

"nPWAS Christmas Eve, the feast so dear 

To little ones who wait its cheer; 
For Christmas Eve, where'er it be. 
Always brings songs, and joy, and glee. 
But Christmas Eve with all thy cheer, 
Thou still art greeted with a tear. 
Where, in a cold and cheerless room. 
Filled by the twilight's darkening gloom, 
A child by fever-bed doth watch, 
A mother's voice and look to catch; 
So sad to her, through blinding tears. 
The joyous Christmas Eve appears. 

She sees each neighboring house grow bright, 
Till every window seems alight. 
And sounds of merriment begin; 
She hears afar the happy din. 
Her heart grows sadder still; but list ! 
Their songs come floating through the mist, 
Their voices sound so sweet, so clear, 
That each word she can plainly hear. 

^' In the convent of Innisfare 
One ruined chapel still is there; 
It holds a bell with tone so fine. 
That when you draw the slender line. 
It works like magic, strange and rare, 
That little bell of Innisfare. 



In the vulgar ffian there is 7io reaction. In the vian of distinction., on the 
contrary., motion is of slight extent^ and reaction is enormous, — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 97 

That little bell of Innisfare 
Will cure your sick, if you but dare 
On Christmas Eve, at midnight hour, 
To try its wondrous healing power; 
We counsel you to hurry there, 
And ring the bell of Innisfare." 

The song had softly passed away. 
When burst from her who suffering lay 
A sigh so deep, and full of smart. 
As if it came from breaking heart; 
And then, with lips and voice so weak, 
In feeble accents thus did speak: 

" Ah ! that sweet bell of Innisfare, 
Oh! if your father had been there. 
Had he but lived till now, then I 
Should not in pain and sorrow die ; 
By sickness here no longer bound. 
Mary, my child, life would be found. 
If some good friend could now go there, 
And ring the bell of Innisfare." 

Thus far she spake, then sank again, 
Stopped by the leaden weight of pain. 
Without, the night grew darker still, 
And silence reigned o'er vale and hill; 
But hark! a latch is drawn — nay, more. 
Some one comes through the creaking door; 
It is a girl, so small and slight. 
With plaid around her folded tight. 
With naked feet and head quite bare, 

— — \ . : 1 

The artist^ according to his personal power of inspiration^ should be able to 
portray a totality of superior and harmonious qualities, such as will compel 
any competent observer to recognize it as beautiful. — Aknaud. 

• + 



98 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Exposed to storm and midnight air; 
With torch and staff her way to find, 
She dashes on quick as the wind. 

She only waited but to say, 

" May God protect me on my way." 
: Up hill, through vale her pathway lay, 

^ Ever with step so swift and light. 

Oh God ! she's stumbled in her flight! 

Her lantern's broken on the ground! 

Its light is quenched, 'tis dark all round. 

The snow comes thicker, faster still. 

But she stops not for frost nor chill; 

To all she gives no heed or care, 

She thinks alone of Innisfare. 

Return in time, the ice is thin. 

It cracks, 'tis almost breaking in! 

From block to block, still safe from ill, 

She springs to land, and mounts the hill. 

The ruined chapel she must find. 
With pointed tower high in the wind; 
From the old tower there glances far 
That little bell, like some fair star. 
The door is open to her feet; 
Her work of love is now complete. 
Now, draw the rope the bell to ring. 
That to thy mother health will bring. 

What seek'st thou, child ? why wait'st thou on ? 
Ring it — oh, woe! the rope is gone! 
There at her feet, decayed and worn, 
It lies in fragments, old and torn. 



The soul which stops to contemplate its wings will never rise. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 99 

The staircase, too, that led the way, 
Has fallen to time and fire a prey. 

Unhappy child! The cruel wind 

Seems mocking at thy faith, unkind; 

In vain thou cam'st through storm and snow, 

In vain o'er icy lakes didst go. 

Vain thy despairing, upstretched arm, 

To ring the bell thou hast no charm. 

The clock now strikes the midnight hour — 
If heaven help not, who else has power? 
She knelt and prayed: " O Saviour, dear, 
Do Thou Thy sorrowing child now hear: 
My mother told me Thou didst come. 
Year after year, to each child's home ; 
When they w^ere bad Thou past didst go, 
But to the good Thy gifts didst flow. 
Oh, now remember me, I pray. 
And I will thank Thee day by day. 
If health and strength may come again 
To my poor mother, sick with pain!" 

And faster even as she speaks. 

The tears stream down the poor child's cheeks. 

But ere the twelfth stroke of the clock 

Had sounded over lake and rock, 

High in its groove the bell doth move. 

And swinging wide, from side to side. 

Peal after peal rings in the air. 

It rings, the bell of Innisfare! 



Gesture is the direct agent of the soiil^ zvhile language is analytic and suc- 
cessive, — DeLAUM OSNE . 



L.ciC. 



100 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'Twas God that heard that earnest prayer, 
That faith and love had offered there; 
And as that bell, with tone so clear, 
Rang o'er the land, the child could hear, 
Mixed in its tones, like angels' song. 
Her mother's voice, soft, float along. 
Saved ! saved ! it said, v^ith music rare, 
The little bell of Innisfare. 



ANNE HATHAWAY. 



/^NCE on a time, when jewels flashed, 
^-^ And moonlit fountains softly splashed, 
And all the air was sweet and bright 
With music, mirth, and deft delight, 
A courtly dame drew, laughing, near 

A poet — greatest of his time. 
And chirped a question in his ear, 

With voice like silver bells in chime: 
"Good Mr. Shakespeare, I would know 

The name thy lady bore, in sooth. 
Ere thine. Nay, little time ago 

It was — for we still mark her youth; 
Some high-born name, I trow, and yet, 
Altho' I've heard it, I forget." 
Then answered he, with dignity. 
Yet blithely — for the hour was gay, 
"My lady's name — Anne Hathaway." 

"And good, sweet sir," the dame pursued. 
Too fair and winsome to be rude, 

Art is the telescope of a supernatural ivorld. — Delsarte. 



4^- 



■t 
-1 



DELS ARTE RECITATIOjST BOOK. loi 

" 'Tis whispered here and whispered there, 
By doughty knights and ladies fair, 
That — that — well, that lier royal lord 

Does e'en obey her lightest will. 
Now, my good spouse — I pledge my word — 

Tho' loving well doth heed me ill; 
How art thou conquered, prithee, tell," 

She pleaded with her pretty frown; 
^' I fain would know what mighty spell 

Can bring a haughty husband down." 
She ceased, and raised her eager face 
To his, with laughing, plaintive grace. 
Then answered he, with dignity. 
Yet blithely — for the hour was gay, 
"Ah, lady, I can only say 
Her name again— Anne Hath — a — way." 



THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER. 



Harriet Beecher Stowe. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



TX rAL, you see, when Parson Carryl's wife died, my 
cousin Huldy undertook to keep house for him. 
She was jest as handsome a gal to look at as a feller 
could have, and a nice, well-behaved young gal. I've 
walked ten miles of a Sunday mornin' jest to play the 
bass-viol in the same singers' seat with her. But you 
know how 'tis in parishes ; there allers is women that 
thinks the minister's affairs belongs to them. And ^o 
Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis* 
Sawin got their heads together a-talkin' about things. 



Affectation is in the arts the equivalent of sophistry in logic^ of the false in 
morals^ of hypocrisy in religion. — Arxaud. 



102 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" Poor man," says Mis' Pipperidge, '' what can that 
child do toward takin' the care of all that place ! It 
takes a mature woman to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes." 

'' That it does," says Mis' Blodgett; '' and when things 
once get to runnin' down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 
'em," says she. 

Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. " I must say, Huldy's 
a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'sponsi- 
bilities she don't know nothin' about." 

Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed till they'd 
drinked up all the tea in the tea-pot, and then they 
went down and called on the parson, and told him that 
it was no way to leave everything to a young chit like 
Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about for an 
experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em, but 
he thought to himself, " Huldy is a good gal ; but I 
oughtn't to be a-leavin' everything to her, — it's too hard 
on her. I ought to be instructin', and guidin', and 
helpin' of her." So at it he went ; and Lordy massy ! 
didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began 
to come out of his study, and went to see to things ! 

" Huldy," says he one day, "you ain't experienced out 
doors, and when you want to know anything you must 
come to me." 

" Yes, sir," says Huldy. 

** Now, Huldy," says the parson, " you must be sure to 
save the turkey-eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys 
for Thanksgiving." 

*' Yes, sir," says she; and she opened the pantry-door 

and showed him a nice dishful she'd been a-savin' up. 

Wal, the next day the parson's hen-turkey was found 

killed. Huldy, she felt bad about it, 'cause she'd set her 

, ^ 4- 

// is not absolutely true to say that the head ts in the eccentric state because I 
it is raised: for it may be that^ raised as it is, the direction of the eye may be 
even higher than it, and, in that case, the head might, although raised, pre- 
sent the aspect of the concentric j/rt/^.— Delsarte. J 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 103 

heart on raisin' the turkeys, and says she, ^' Oh, dear ! 
I don't know what I shall do." 

** Do, Huldy?" says the parson; *^why there's the 
other turkey ; out there by the door and a fine bird, 
too, he is." 

Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a-struttin' 
and a-sidlin' and a-quitterin' and a-floutin' his tail- 
feathers in the sun, like a lively young widower, all 
ready to begin life over again. 

^' But," says Huldy, '' you know he can't set on eggs," 

" He can't ? I'd like to know why," says the parson. 
^^ He shall set on eggs, and hatch 'em, too. What else 
be they good fer? You jest bring out the eggs, now, 
and put 'em in the nest, and I'll make him set on 'em." 

" O doctor !" says Huldy, all in a tremble ; cause, you 
know, she didn't want to contradict the minister, *^ I 
never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs." 

But she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in 
the nest; and then she come back and found old Tom 
a-skirmishin' with the parson pretty lively, I tell ye. 
Ye see, old Tom didn't take to the idee at all ; and he 
flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson ; and the par- 
son's wig got 'round so that his cue stuck out straight 
over his ear ; but he'd got his blood up. Ye see, the old 
doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine, so 
finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck 
and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round 
him. 

** There, Huldy," he says, quite red in the face, " we've 
got him now ;" and he travelled off to the barn with 
him as lively as a cricket. 

Huldy came behind, jest chokin' with laugh. 



The first great thing to be acquired is flexibility of the joints. Free the 
channels of expression^ and the current of nervous force can rush throtigh 
them as a stream of zvater rushes through a channel^ unclogged by obstacles. 
— Genevieve Stebbins. 



I04 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

^^ Now, Huldy, we'll crook his legs and set him down," 
says the parson, when they got to the nest ; *' you see 
he is gettin' quiet, and he'll set there all right." 

And the parson he sot him down, and old Tom he sot 
there solemn enough, and held his head down all 
droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, as long as 
the parson sot by him. 

" There, you see how still he sets," says the parson. 

Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh. 
^^I'm afraid he'll get up," says she, ^* when you do." 

" Oh, no, he won't," says the parson, quite confident. 
** There, there," says he, layin' his hands on him, as if 
pronouncin' a blessin'. But when the parson riz up, 
old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the 
eggs. 

** Stop, now !" says the parson. *^ I'll make him get 
down agin ; hand me that corn-basket ; we'll put that 
over him." So he crooked old Tom's legs and got him 
down agin ; and they put the basket over him, and then 
they both stood and waited. 

"That'll do the thing, Huldy," says the parson. 

"I don't know about it," says Huldy. 

" Oh, yes, it will, child. I understand," says he. Jest 
as he spoke the basket riz right up and stood, and they 
could see old Tom's long legs. 

" I'll make him stay down, confound him," says the 
parson ; for, ye see, parsons is men, like the rest on us, 
and the doctor had got his spunk up. '^ You jest hold 
him a minute, and I'll get somethin' that'll make him 
stay, I guess ;" and out he went to the fence, and 
brought in a long, thin, flat stone, and laid it on old 
Tom's back. 



Dynamic reflections are produced by three movements: direct m^ovetnents^ 
rotary movements^ and movements of flexion in the arc of a circle, — Del 

SARTK. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 105 

Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, 
and looked railly as if he was goin' to give in. He 
stayed still there a good long spell, and the minister and 
Huldy left him and come up to the house ; but they 
hadn't more than got in the door before they see old 
Tom a-hippin' along, as high steppin' as ever, sayin' 
''Talk! talk! talk!" and ''quitter! quitter! quitter!" 
and struttin' and gobblin'. 

" Oh, my eggs !" says Huldy, " I'm afraid he's smashed 
them !" 

And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough 
under the stone. 

Wal, next week Huldy she jest got a lot o' turkey- 
eggs and set a hen on 'em, and said nothin'; and in good 
time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever ye 
see. 

Not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy 
ought to have a pig to be a-fattin' with the buttermilk, 
and old Tim Bigelow told him if he'd call over he'd 
give him a little pig. So he went for a man, and told 
him to build a pig-pen out by the well, and have it all 
ready when he come home with the pig. 

Wal, the carpenter he didn't come till most the mid- 
dle of the arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, fixed the 
well-curb, and went off and said he'd come and do the 
pig-pen next day. Wal, arter dark. Parson Carryl he 
driv into the yard, full chizel, with the pig. He'd tied 
up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see 
what he thought was the pig-pen — he was rather near- 
sighted, — and so he ran and threw piggy over, and went 
into the house quite delighted. 



Probably not one man in a hundred ever stopped to think that he cannot 

Intake a single gesture with the unconscious grace of a child or an ani7nal^/or 
the simple reason that an arbitrary volition is so iinpacted in each tnuscle that 
he controls every sinew artijicially without knowing it. He is unconsciously 
constricted front head to foot. — Nym Crinkle. 
* i 



io6 DELSARTE RECUSATION BOOK. 

^^ There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig/* says 
he. 

" Dear me !" says Huldy; " where have you put him ?" 

" Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure." 

" Oh, dear me !" says Huldy^ ** that's the well-curb; 
there ain't no pig-pen built," says she. 

" Lordy massy !" says the parson. " Then I've thrown 
the pig in the well !" 

Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she 
fished piggy out in the bucket, but he was dead as a 
door-nail ; and she got him out o' the way quietly, and 
didn't say much ; and the parson, he took to a great 
Hebrew book in his study, and says he, '' Huldy, I ain't 
much in temporals," says he. 

Wal, Mis' Deakin Blodgett an' Mis' Pipperidge begun 
to talk that it railly wasn't proper, such a young gal to be 
stayin' there, who everybody could see was a-settin' her 
cap for the minister. Mis' Pipperidge said that so long 
as she looked on Huldy as the hired gal she hadn't 
thought much about it; but Huldy w^as takin' on airs as 
an equal, an' appearin' as mistress o' the house in a 
way that w^ould make talk if it went on. And Mis' 
Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin Abner Snow's, 
and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they 
wasn't afraid that the way that the parson and Huldy 
was a-goin' on might make talk. 

Finally Mis' Sawin she says to Huldy, '^ My dear, 
didn't you never think that folk would talk about you 
and the minister?" 

" No ; why should they ?" says Huldy, quite innocent. 

" Wal, dear," says she, ^' I think it's a shame ; but they 
say you're tryin' to catch him." 



Outward gesture being only the echo of the inward gesture which gai'e 
I birth to it and rules it, should be inferior to it in development, and should be 
in some sort diaphanous. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 107 

Huldy was a gal o' spirit, but it made her drefful un- 
comfortable. The minister he had the same thing from 
one of his deakins, and when he saw Huldy so kind o' 
silent, he says to her, ** What^s the matter, my child?" 

^^Oh, sir !" says Huldy, *^ is it improper for me to be 
here ?" 

" No, dear," says the minister, " but ill-natured folks 
will talk; but there is one way we can stop it, Huldy— 
if you will marry me. You'll make me very happy, and 
I'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you ?" 

Next Sunday mornin', when the minister walked up 
the aisle with Huldy, all in white, arm-in-arm with him, 
and he opened the minister's pew, and handed her in as if 
she was a princess, wal, I guess there was a rustlin' 
among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, 
like corn poppin' on a . shovel, and her eyes glared 
through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her 
a-fire; and everybody in the meetin'-house was a-starin', 
I tell ye. 

Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson 
and Huldy at the door, shakin' hands and laughin'; for 
by that time they was about agreed that they'd got to 
let putty well alone. 

** Why, Parson Carryl," says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, 
*^how you've come it over us." 

** Yes," says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his 
eye. ^^ I thought," says he, "as folks wanted to talk 
about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em somethin' wuth 
talkin' about." 



Unlike speech^ which differs ivith different nationalities^ the language o/ 
gesture is the same among all classes^ varying only in degree or intensity. A 
Frenchvtan uses the same muscles to express approval that an Italian uses; a 
Russian /rowns as does an American, given the same emotion. A n English- 
man manifests disgust by the action of certain mouth-muscles , under the 
same emotion, as does an American Indian. — Mrs. Frank Stuart Parker.- 



I08 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

A TRAGEDY OF SEDAN. 



Anna Katherine Green Rohlfs. 



T HAD seen him in battle, and he was a man 

To watch in a conflict. I'd seen him when death 
Struck down at his feet the one comrade he loved; 
But never before, upon field or in camp, 
Had beheld in his face such a look of the grave 
As he brought yester night to the door of my tent. 
So dread in suggestion of anguish, I leapt 
In dismay to my feet. Was he ill? Was he hurt? 

But at that 
He was straight at my side w^ith a bound. " Ay, in 

grief ! 
And you talk of it, you ! talk of grief ! but 'tis easy. 
We all talk of grief. But enough: I must tell 
You the whole or go mad. My friend," and his eyes 
Glared wildly on mine through his thick, fallen hair — 
" Have you loved? Yes? In the pause 
Of the death-dealing guns one may ask, may he not, 
Such a question as that of a man ?" 

For reply 
I drew from my bosom a curl that I kissed. 
And put back on my heart without words. *Twas 

enough; 
He bent down at my side with a cry: *^ Is she fair? 
Has she eyes like a dove and a step like a deer. 
So gentle and wild ? Do you love her — O heaven! — 
With the force of your body, your spirit, and heart ? 
Ah! 'tis folly to ask. A w^oman must die 



Every tone necessarily contains the tonic, its generator^ the dominant, its en- 
gendered, and the mediant, -which proceeds from the other two. The reunion 
of these three tones., which makes them into one, forms the perfect chord. — 
Delsarte. 

4— ' ' 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 109 

Or turn false to be loved so. Pray heaven 

You may die ere you come to a passion like that!" 

Looking down, 
He took from, his finger a ring, and then said: 
"She vi^as pledged to me, friend; w^as my hope from a 

child; 
Was my life, you might say. In the mesh of her glance 
All my being was thralled. Not a dawn rose upon me 
But I woke with the thought of her beauty. Ah, I know 
Such a love is not good, that its passion undoes 
What its purity makes; but a man cannot choose 
His fate from the heavens, and this love, as it w^as, 
Was my fate. 

" Well, her heart gave response to my suit, 
And we had been wedded two long years ago. 
But love is ambitious. To give her a home 
I left her, and, far from her voice and her smile. 
Worked my way up to fortune. Oh, the long, long 

months! 
But they passed, and at length 

Came the day of return. Ah, that day ! Like a flame 
It flares ever before me. Her looks and her smiles 
Will notilit, will not fly. As we walked up the street 
The bells broke out ringing. For three months of doom 
I have heard them; they never have ceased in my ears. 

" But no dwelling on that. 'Tis enough 
I was happy that day. Ah, you wonder what now! 
You, sitting at ease in your tent, with the tress 
Of a tender, true w^oman like balm on your breast, 
Wonder what could have turned all this rapture to woe 



t : \ ^ ■ 

1 It is not ideas that nroTe the vtasses; it is gestures. We easily reach the 
heart and soul through the senses. Music acts especially on the senses. It 
purifies them., it gives intelligence to the hand., it disposes the heart to prayer. 

I — Delaumosne. 
^ ^ . 



no DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

In a moment. Ah, God! 'twas not much, not much! 
Only this: When I rose in the dusk from my guests 
('Tvvas my wedding-eve, friend) my beloved was gone ! 
Yes, yes, gone as certain as joy — 
Gone, gone, gone, gone ! Not a word of farewell, 
Not a look; just that smile that w^as love, or like love, 
And then this great gulf. 

" Oh, may the world 
Grow old and shrink up in the hands of the Lord 
Ere another night creep by like that! Not till morn 
Did they tell me the whole — how for Vv^eeks he had been 
In the town by her side; stealing up in the dusk 
To drop a stray rose in her hand — I say 
It was not until morning they told me all this; 
Meantime she was gone. 

'' Well, I lived — lived to seek him. 
Do you know what that means ? By the chances of war 
You have been in your time the hunted, spent deer. 
Have you e'er been the hound ? Can you reckon of 

days 
When, with fire in your blood and revolt in your brain, 
You wandered the world with your eyes on the face 
Of each man that you met? And the nights — 
The nights without sleep, and the dreams. 
The visions that swam in the air, and made hot 
The breath of tlie north wind; the doubts and the hopes ! 

*^ For three months I lived thus. 
And then came despair. From the German frontier 
Rose a clamor for soldiers. I heard, and grew calm. 



The most powerful of all gestures is that which affects the spectator without ] 
his knowing it. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. HI 

* It is well !' I exclaimed, ' Men are shot in the field; 
Let the enemy slay me.' So I came to the war." 

He paused here a moment, and drew from his breast 
A crumpled white paper, streaked over with blood, 
And laid it before me. 

" You say this was anguish," he cried, " but I say 

It was nothing — just nothing. My friend, can you think 

What it were, or might be, if the woman you love — 

Nay, nay, hear me out — should be walking above 

The horrid, steep side of a gulf, and you saw 

Her footsteps draw nearer and nearer, and yet 

Were too far to shriek warning; and at last, as you 

looked. 
Behold her slip over ! — those eyes that you love, 
The forehead, the hair — saw her struggle and catch 
At some dizzy small branch that would hold but a 

breath. 
And you yet afar? Can you think what it were 
To hear her shriek out with assurance you'd heed 
And would come, and that instant, while heaven and 

earth 
Were one glare, and you rushed, to be caught, man, be 

caught 
In a network of hell which you could not escape, 
While she — your heart's own — O death ! Yet is that 
My soul-torment. Look here !" and his shaking hand 

smoothed 
The white paper before me. " Did you think she was 

false ? 

T — : . — '■ T 

Exceptional talents require an exceptional public ivho can understand them 
and make them popular by applauding and explaining them. — Arnaud. 



112 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

She was true, friend, was true; true as light, true as 

heaven. 
I have known it three hours. 

'*" Beguiled, do you see? 
Wooed away from my side with some smooth, hurried 

tale. 
Till the length of the garden lay 'twixt us. Ah! ah! 
Is there vengeance in hell for such villains? The rest? 
You can guess how it happened — his sudden appeal — 
The carriage — the horses — her cry which we heard not — 
The rush and the night. Do you doubt it is true ? 
It is written here. See the tremulous lines 
How they cross and recross. But she's true! 'tis 

enough. 
Do you see all my anguish ?'* 

With hand and with voice 
I strove in my pity to calm him; but he. 
Staggering backward, went on: ^^'Tis not all. She is 

held 
In his power by his spies ! he would wed her — great 

heaven! 
Make her countess or something; just stab her, I say! 
And she calls me, entreats me by all I adore. 
To come quick. Ha, ha! " and his awful laugh whirled 
On the night wind. *^ Come quick! And I'm bound! 

** How it came to this spot, when, I know not. 
It was put in my hand as I strode from the field 
By some one who cried, * If you hasten, perhaps 
You have time still to save her.' Away to the chief 



Sound contains three sounds: that of the tonic, the dominant^ and the me- 
diant. The tonic {^Father) necessarily generates the dominant {Son), and the 
mediant {Holy Ghost) proceeds necessarily /rom the first tivo. — Delsarte. 



DELSAR TE REGIT A TION BOOK. 1 1 3 

I hurried, a madman. What was France to me now, 
Or the world? I fell down at his feet in despair; 
Told him all; showed my billet — in vain, all in vain! 
And to-morrow's the day of the battle!" 

As in that 
He had touched the whole depth of his woe, he flung up 
His arms to the sky for a moment, and then 
Sank down like one shot. When I rose from his side, 
The dread morn of battle flamed high in the east. 

Do you ask me for more ? Lift the end of that cloth 
And behold ! It is calm now, you see, sirs, quite calm. 
'Twas not so yester eve. When he fell, all the din 
Of the battle served not to o'erwhelm from my ears 
The shriek that he gave. 



HAUNTED BY A SONG. 



Translated and Adapted from the French. 

[Those who have heard a catching melody at the opera and have been 
haunted by it for days, under all circumstances — and who has not thus 
suffered ? — will appreciate this monologue. In each place where the 
word is repeated several times, the reciter will fit them to the tune of 
the song and, of course, sing them. — Editor.] 

Jones \enterSj pale and haggard\ 

T AM all out of sorts ; I am miserable, I am wretched. 

I am quite a different creature from what I w^as two 

days ago. I was all right then. I went to the theatre, 

to the Casino. The play they gave was awfully funny. 

There was a young lady in it, and a young man who 

^ 

// is easy to distingtiish the 7nan ef head^ of hearty and of action. The first 
makes many gestures of the head; the seco7id many of the shoulders; the last 
moves the arms often and i7iappropriateIy . — Delaumosne. 



114 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



Music of Song in ^''Haunted by a Song^ 
Allegretto. 



'B: 



tft=^ 



it 




wanted to marry the young lady, and some people who 
wanted to prevent the marriage, and some more people 
who wanted the marriage to take place — in short, I for- 
get all that happened, but it came out all right; they 
^ 



Inflection is the life of speech; the mind lies in the articulative values^ in 
the distribution of these articulations and their progressions. The soul of 
speech is in gesttire. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 115 

got married in the end. Then they were all very happy, 
and they sang a song, tra la la la la la, etc. \^Smgs the 
whole tune^ 

Of course, I felt happy, too, as I left the theatre, for 
it was such a pretty air. It was very cold. I turned up 
my collar around my ears and hurried home, tra la la la, 
etc. When I reached my door, I rang the bell, ding, 
ding, ding, ding, ding, ding. I live on the top floor; I 
climbed the stairs quietly \singing under his breath\ tra la 
la la la la la la la. I lighted my candle la la, undressed 
la la la, got into bed and fell asleep. [^Snores 071 the sa??te 
tune.] 

The next morning when I awoke the weather was 
superb, and I was in excellent mood ! I sprang up, tra 
la la la, plunged my head in the water, fl fl fl fl fl fl. I 
was in the best of spirits! Somebody knocked at my 
door. I went to open; it was my landlady, who handed 
in a letter. [Makes the motion of opening the letter and 
readings while he sings^ Tra la la la la la la — oh! dear 
me! my poor aunt! on her death-bed! Quick! my hat, 
my overcoat, my umbrella! I reach the street, I hail a 
cab — " Coachman, Grand Central depot! A dollar extra 
for you if you go fast, fast, fast, fast!" 

I reached the station, left my umbrella behind me in 
the cab, cab, cab. No matter, I caught the train, train, 
train! [Out of breath^ It was the express, press, press, 
press. 

My poor aunt ! I was fond of my poor aunt, even if 
she were only an aunt by marriage. When I arrived she 
died in my arms. I was distressed, tressed, tressed! 
Oh! I wish I could get rid of this tune. I had to attend 



The human body may be regarded as the expression of the soul. Hence it 
is possible to read a man''s character^ and eve7i his very thoughts^ in his coun- 
tenance and manner. Hence every cha^ige i^i character,, as it becomes fixed, 
produces a corresponding change in the counte7tance , Passion not only cor- 
rodes the heart, but also disfigures the expression of the face. — T. M. Balliet. 
^ , , 



Ii6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

to everything — newspapers, death-notices, tra la la la la 
la la la la. That tune was with me even as I followed 
her body to the grave. The undertaker said to me : 
"You seem all broken up, sir." "Oh!" I answered, " I 
am in despair pair, pair, pair, pair, pair ! ! !" I hate it ! 
I abominate it ! I — well, as long as I can't get rid of 
it, I shall use it to express my grief. \^Smgs^ 

I have just lost my poor auntie, 
I have just laid her in the ground, 

A small income she has left me. 

Therefore to mourn her I am bound. 

She was ever a good, kind woman. 

And her loss is to me severe, 
For I was her favorite nephew, 

So I hasten to drop a tear. Tra la la. 

Well, all was over at last. I took the train back to 
New York. My head was ready to burst, burst, burst. 
I got out at the Grand Cen-cen-cen-tral Depot, pot. I 
hurried through like a mad, mad, mad man, knocked 
down everybody, took the first street in front of me, 
then the first one to the left, the next one to right, right, 
right, another one to the left, brought up at the East 
River, gazed at the water, ter, ter, ter. Ah ! never to 
sing that any more ! To die ! I threw myself into 
the river and was drowned gl gl gl gl gl. \^Sighs with 
satisfaction^ 

When I came to, 1 was in the station-house. My 
clothes were drying before the fire, and that cursed tune 
was still throbbing through my brain. Tra la la la la la 
la la la, etc. ^Exit in despair^ hunifjiing the tune^ 
I — — — • 

Sound is the reflection of the divine image. In sotmd there are three reflex 
images: the reflex of life^ the reflex of the intellect., the reflex of love. — 
Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 117 

AUCTIONING OFF THE BABY. 



T^HAT am I offered for Baby? 

Dainty, dimpled and sweet 
From the curls above his forehead 

To the beautiful rosy feet; 
From the tips of the wee pink fingers 
To the light of the clear brown eye, 
What am I offered for Baby? 

Who'll buy ? who'll buy ? who'll buy 

What am I offered for Baby ? 

" A shopful of sweets?" Ah, no! 
That's too much beneath his value 

Who is sweetest of all below! 
The naughty, beautiful darling! 

One kiss from his rosy mouth 
Is better than all the dainties 

Of East, or West, or South! 

What am I offered for Baby? 

'' A pile of gold?" Ah, dear, 
Your gold is too hard and heavy 

To purchase my brightness here. 
Would the treasures of all the mountains, 

Far in the wonderful lands. 
Be worth the clinging and clasping 

Of these dear little peach-bloom hands? 

So, what am I offered for Baby? 

" A rope of diamonds?" Nay, 
If your brilliants were larger and brighter 

Than stars in the Milky Way, 



Articulate language is W0^ because it is successive. It must be enunciated 
phrase by phrase; by WQ^^t Syllables^ letters, consonants, and vowels. — Del- 

AUMOSNE. 



Ii8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Would they ever be half so precious 
As the light of those lustrous eyes, 

Still full of the heavenly glory 

They brought from beyond the skies? 

Then, what am I offered for Baby? 

*' A heart full of love and a kiss?" 
Well, if anything ever could tempt me, 

'Twould be such an offer as this! 
But how can I know if your loving 

Is tender, and true, and divine 
Enough to repay what Fm giving 

In selling this sweetheart of mine? 

So we will not sell the Baby! 

Your gold and gems and stuff, 
Were they ever so rare and precious, 

Would never be half enough! 
For what would we care, my dearies, 

What glory the world put on 
If our beautiful darling were — going; 

If our beautiful darling were — gone! 



THE LITTLE WHITE BEGGARS. 



Helen W. Ludlow. 



T^HE small waves came frolicking in from the sea. 

Leaping the rocks where the big breakers roar ; 
Snowy crests tossing, so proud to be free, 
Racing and chasing in baby-like glee 

Up the sand slope to the beach cabin door. 

Throned on the post of the sea-looking gate, 
Safe in the fold of my sheltering arm, 



Breathing is a threefold act: inspiration^ suspension^ expiration, — Del- 

SARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 119 

Sat three-year old Dick, like a king in his state, 
Little feet drumming at rapturous rate — 

Small King Canute, do the waves own thy charm ? 

Do I slander the soul of my small human boy? 

"Look out, then, my Dick, over ocean's blue floor, 
And tell me what fancies those deep thoughts employ. 
Ha! Dick, see them come! Do you join in the joy 

Of the little white horses all racing for shore?" 

The tiny, uplifted arm paused in the air, 

The blue eyes grew thoughtful, the breeze-tousled 
head 
Shook sunbeams around, and the sweet little pair 
Of coral lips, trembling with utterance rare, 

" Doze isn't white horses," he earnestly said. 

" What, not little horses, Dick? See how they run. 
All their curly white manes floating back on the sea, 

Dashing the drops up to shine in the sun. 

Racing and chasing — what glorious fun!" 

" No, no; doze is 'ittle white beggars," said he. 

" Tttle white beggars," he murmured again. 

**Oh, little white breakers, you mean, I suppose." 
*^ Not 'ittle white b'akers " — suggestion w^as vain, 
My wisdom rejected with baby disdain — 

" 'Ittle white beggars dey is; I knows." 

" Little white beggars — well, that's an idea ! 

Then perhaps you can tell so we'll all understand. 
What these little white beggars come begging for here ?" 
And the soft baby lips w^hispered, close to my ear, 

"Dey begs for de wocks, an' de sea-weed, an' sand." 



Gesture is nia^netic^ speech is not so. Through gesture ive subdue the tiiost 
ferocious animals. — Delaumosne. 



I20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

GRANDFATHER WATTS'S PRI- 
VATE FOURTH. 

H. C. BUNNER. 



r^ RANDFATHER WATTS used to tells us boys 

^^ That a Fourth wan't a Fourth without any noise, 

He would say, with a thump of his hickory stick, 

That it made an American right down sick, 

To see his sons on the nation's day 

Sit round in a sort of a listless way. 

With no oration and no trained band. 

No firework show and no root beer stand. 

While his grandsons, before they were out of bibs, 

Were ashamed — great Scot! — to fire off squibs. 

And so each Independence morn 
Grandfather Watts took his powder-horn 
And the flint-lock shotgun his father had 
When he fought under Schuyler, a country lad. 
And Grandfather Watts would start and tramp 
Ten miles to the woods at Beaver camp; 
For Grandfather Watts used to say — and scowl — 
That a decent chipmunk, or woodchuck, or owl 
Was better company, friendly or shy. 
Than folks who didn't keep Fourth of July; 
And so he would pull his hat down on his brow, 
And march for the woods sou'east by sou'. 

But once — ah! long, long years ago; 
For grandfather's gone where good men go — 
One hot, hot Fourth, by ways of our own. 
Such short cuts as boys have always known. 
We hurried and followed the dear old man 



Every impression^ to become a sensation., must first be perceived by the in- 
telligence: and thus we may say of the sensation that it is a definite impres- 
sion. — Dels ARTE. 




'The flag your ancestors and mine fought and died for 
a hundred years ago." 




FAUST. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 121 

' Beyond where the wilderness began, 
To the deep black woods at the foot of the dump, 
And there was a clearing and a stump — 

A stump in the heart of a great, wide wood; 
And there on that stump our grandfather stood, 
Talking and shouting out there in the sun, 
And firing that funny old flint-lock gun 
Once in a minute, his head all bare. 
Having his Fourth of July out there — 
The Fourth of July he used to know 
Back in eighteen and twenty, or so. 

First, with his face to the heaven's blue, 
He read the '' Declaration*' through; 
And then, with gestures to left and right, 
He made an oration erudite. 
Full of words six syllables long; 
And then our grandfather broke into song! 
And, scaring the squirrels in the trees. 
Gave " Hail, Columbia!" to the breeze. 

And I tell you the old man never heard 
When we joined in the chorus, word for word! 
But he sang out strong in the bright blue sky, 
And if voices joined in his Fourth of July, 
He heard them as echoes from days gone by. 

And when he had done, we all slipped back 
As still as we came, on our twisting track. 
While words more clear than the flint-lock shots 
Rang in our ears. And Grandfather Watts? 
He shouldered the gun his father bore 
And marched off home, nor'west by nor'. 

A -A 

The plastic art allies itsel/'/>articiilarly to the physical constitution, but the 
\ physique ca7inot be perfectly beautiful unless it 7nanifests intellectual and \ 
moral faculties. — x\rnaud. 

i- ^ 



122 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

A MODERN VERSION OF THE 
, MERCHANT OF VENICE. 



Joseph Barber. 



T N the city of Venice, blank-blank Anno Domini, 

Lived one Signor Antonio, who seemed, to the 
common eye. 
As much richer than any who there turned a penny, 
As the richest plum-pudding is richer-than hominy. 
He had made piles of rocks by shrewd corners in stocks; 
Had ^'collateral" no end in his Herring's strong box; 
Owned of steamers whole lines, several Idaho mines, 
And had ne'er known financial disaster; 
In short, was a man of pith, pluck, and elan^ 
In whom nature had blent, on the composite plan, 
The vim of the well-known Cornelius Van, 
With the prudence of William B. Astor. 

To him came one day, in a terrible way, 

Bassanio, his friend, who'd been cleaned out in play, 

And says he: *' Won't you loan me three thousand, now 

say ? 
It's all right; I've resolved my addresses to pay 
To that Belmont girl, Portia, the heiress. 
Her affections I'll win — Tony, tip us your fin; 
My hand on't, I'll cancel the debt with her tin, 
When together, her brown granite palace within, 
We set up our Penates and Lares." 

** Not a word more, dear Bass," said Antonio; ^^ the lass 
You shall marry if my help can bring it to pass; 
But I'm short of the ready, just now, by the mass! 



, speech is an act posterior to luill^ itself posterior to love; this again posterior 
\ to judgment, posterior in its turn to vtefuory^ ivhich^ finally^ is posterior to 
the impression. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 123 

Having largely invested in cotton. 

Never mind about that, though, my paper's first-class 

And the cash can be easily gotten." 

The friends then went forth and found Shylock, a Jew, 
Accustomed good bills and good Christians to "do," 
To whom said Antonio: " Here, Shy, you Yahoo, 
Advance me three thousand for three months, and you 
May prescribe your own terms as a lender." 
Quoth the Hebrew:* '^ I will; here's a quill; draw a bill, 
And in lieu of all interest (I won't take a mill. 
Though you've oft called me usurer, and treated me 

ill) 

Say a pound of your flesh — this is only a joke — 

Shall be mine, should the contract on your part be broke 

Ere your ninety-day note I surrender." 

The queer bargain was made, the three thousand was 

paid, 
And Bassanio, with young Gratiano, his aide. 
Went to Belmont to woo the before-mentioned maid. 
(Mind, by Belmont I don't mean that blandest of 

bankers. 
Who owns lots of thoroughbreds, regular spankers, 
But a home near Lake Como, whereat that young homo^ 
Bassanio, expected to play major-domo.) 

Arrived there, the guest to make merry was pressed. 
For Portia of all her beaux liked him the best; 
And admitted if she could but have her behest. 
No power under heaven should sunder 'em. 

* Here is offered an opportunity to insert Shylock's reply from the 
original. 



Art is only valuable as it expresses goodttess and great 7iess in the soul. Imi- 
tation 7nay imitate the expressio7i^ but it can alivaysbe detected as i^nitation, 
and resembles truth as nearly as the clozid on a painted canvas is like one on 
^^az/^/z'j:<;^«t?j^_j/.— Genevieve Stebbins. 



124 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

But, alas! her fair self and, still worse, all her pelf 

Had been willed by her father, cranky old elf. 

To the man who should choose, from three jars on a 

shelf. 
The reply to a certain conundrum. 

I'm most happy to state 'twas Bassanio's fate 

To guess it; and Portia, declining to wait, 

That night the young gentleman married. 

Also, *' same time and place," fair Nerissa, her maid, 

Espoused Gratiano, Bassanio's aide; 

But not long with their dear ones they tarried. 

O'er the wires came a flash, their enjoyment to dash, 

To this purport : *^ Antonio all gone to smash; 

Can't take up that note ; not a dollar in cash. 

Jew angry ; protests that A.'s bosom he'll gash, 

Come quick, or there'll be a most awful squabash. 

All Antonio's * specs ' have miscarried." 

I ought to have mentioned before, by the way, 

That the Jew's only daughter, a frolicsome fay, 

Had eloped with a friend of Bassanio's, one day. 

Taking wdth her large sums from his cash-box. 

Which they say seemed almost to madness to goad him. 

By daughter and ducats thus given the slip, 

The old anti-Christian, miserly rip. 

Was delighted Antonio to catch on the hip. 

And feed fat the old grudge that he owed him. 

When Bassanio's bride of the telegram heard. 
She smiled a sad smile, and said, '^ Bassy, my bird. 
Though this failure has inopportunely occurred, 
You must go to your bankrupt friend's succor. 

A _ 



T 

4 



Time does not preserve what it has cost us no time to create. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 125 

Take six thousand — take more, take the sum ten times 

o'er — 
What is money to me when the man I adore 
Has a friend in this horrible pucker !" 
Her beloved faltered ^' Yes," gave his darling a kiss, 
Gratiano did likewise to pretty Neriss, 
And the twain — slightly under the weather 
At the thought of postponing their honeymoon's bliss — 
Took the first train for Venice together. 

They had scarce turned their backs, when said Portia : 
^^ Suppose, 

Dear Nerissa, we follow them, under the rose, 

I disguised as a lawyer, and you in the clothes befitting 
an amanuensis. 

*Twas arranged, tout de suite. In black costumes com- 
plete, 

Procured ready-made, that reached down to their feet, 

They started next day their dear husbands to cheat — 

Portia paying, of course, all expenses. 

It was high noon in Venice, the court was assembled ; 

The Jew was malignant, the prisoner trembled, 

And Bassanio was pleading, with eyes red and watery. 

To save his friend's breast from ^' the actual cautery," 

When, during a pause, a young doctor of laws. 

Sent from Padua to try ^* the great pound-of-flesh cause," 

Appeared on the scene and proceeded to charge 

(Citing cases in point and the statutes at large) 

That the Hebrew, though bloodthirsty, vile, and reputed 

A foul, heathenish dog, that deserved to be booted — 

Had **a clear case in law," and could not be nonsuited. 

A 



It is through opposition that the smile expresses moral sadness. — Delaumosne. 



126 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

The Jew whetted his blade: ^' Lo! a Daniel," he said; 

'* Your laws to the four winds he pitches. 

Antonio prepare, your old torso lay bare, 

For my hand to dig into it itches." 

But "tarry a little," the doctor replied; 

"Take your quota of flesh, but of life's crimson tide, 

If thou spillest one drop, all thy goods to the state 

Are by law — and thou lovest the law — confiscate. 

But take notice, I pray thee, thou cannibal hound. 

Cut, avoirdupois, to a hair's breadth, a pound. 

A mistake of one scruple, unscrupulous Jew 

(Ah! thy visage may well turn green, yellow, and blue), 

Will not merely thy property place at our beck, 

But a proper tie put round that infamous neck." 

" Is that so? " whimpered Shylock, his lips white with 

foam, 
"Please to pay the note thrice, then; I want to go 

home." 
But " No, stop!" cried the doctor; " the law hath a hold, 
Even now, on this usurer's ill-gotten gold. 
Here's an act that declares if an alien attempt 
A citizen's life, all his goods — naught exempt — 
Shall be seized on at once for the staters ^ privy coffer; ' 
So this fellow, at best, is a ducatless loafer. 
And his life even now lies within the duke's mercy, 
Who may grant it, perhaps — or, perhaps, vice versy." 

The upshot of all was that Shylock agreed 

To turn Christian — the scamp — if from punishment 

freed; 
And the court, out of pity, condemned him to deed 



Expiration is an element of trusty expansion^ confidence^ and tenderness. 
If the expression contain both pain and love^ the inspiration and the expiration 
will doth be noisy. — Dels arte. 

^ _ ^ 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 127 

All his goods to his runaway daughter! 

Then the doctor and clerk, with a dexterous jerk, 

Doffed the toggery they'd worn for professional work, 

And each wife, with a saucy, self-satisfied smirk. 

Sought the arms that delightfully caught her. 

Something more might I say, if I followed the play* 

But the finishing scene is rather too ^*gay;" 

And as double entendres are not in my way, 

I will here, with permission, the green curtain draw 

On this drama of love, lucre, logic, and law. 

Moral. 
With regard to the moral, on Shylock it centres, 
To whom " lust of fliesh '* brought the worst of adven- 
tures; 
It is this — truer proverb you ne'er set your eyes on — 
** What is one person's meat, is another one's poison." 



PIANO-MUSIC. 



T7IRST a soft and gentle tinkle. 

Gentle as the rain-drop's sprinkle^, 
Then a stop. 
Fingers drop. 
Now begins a merry trill, 
Like a cricket in a mill; 
Now a short, uneasy motion, 
Like a ripple on the ocean. 
See the fingers dance about, 
Hear the notes come tripping out; 
How they mingle in the tingle 

A ^ • 

T It is necessary only that there should exist a degree of individuality^ sojne^ 
thing novels a distinguishing tone, and an artistic physiognomy pecziliarly 
\ one's own. Servile imitations, plagiarism, stupid adaptatio?is, put to death 
1 all art and all poetry. — A'R^WT). 

^ . ., .___ .-. 



128 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Of the everlasting jingle, 
Like to hailstones on a shingle, 
Or the ding-dong, dangle-dingle 
Of a sheep-bell ! Double, single, 
Now they come in wilder gushes, 
Up and down the player rushes, 
Quick as squirrels, sweet as thrushes. 
Now the keys begin to clatter 
Like the music of a platter 
When the maid is stirring batter. 
O'er the music comes a change. 
Every tone is wild and strange; 
Listen to the lofty tumbling. 
Hear the mumbling, fumbling, jumbling, 
Like the rumbling and the grumbling 
Of the thunder from its slumbering 
Just awaking. Now it's taking 
To the quaking, like a fever-and-ague shaking; 
Heads are aching, something's breaking — 
Goodness gracious! it is wondrous. 
Rolling round, above, and under us, 
Like old Vulcan's stroke so thunderous. 
Now 'tis louder, but the powder 
Will be all exploded soon; 
For the only way to do. 
When the music's nearly through. 
Is to muster all your muscle for a bang. 
Striking twenty notes together with a clang: 
Hit the treble with a twang. 
Give the bass an awful whang. 
And close the whole performance 
With a slam — bang — whang ! 
^ J 

Inspiration should always be followed by a suspensive silence: otherwise the 
lungSy agitated by the act of inspiration^ perforin the expiration badly. — Dkf.- 

SARTE. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



129 



THE COBRA. 



Miller Hageman. 




ROUGHED about each other closely, 
measuring each glance mo- 
rosely, 
Bent a group of midnight gam- 
blers over cup and card 
and cheat; 
When, with countenance ap- 
palling, to his startled com- 
rades calling, 
One of them with ghostly whis- 
per gasped from out his 
winding-sheet: 
** Hush, for God's sake, hush, I feel a cobra crawling 
round my feet!" 

And sank backward in his seat. 

In his lifted hand clutched tightly, as the burning lamp 

shone brightly, 
Gleamed the winning card, whose bloodspots seemed 

some horror to portray; 
But as that dread weight upon him told him death's 

cold hand was on him, 
As the lion at the hunter stares with paw upon the 

prey, 
So he stared in palsied terror at that card he dared not 

play. 

While that cobra round him lay. 



The classic eras of study of generalities and of classeskavt Passed. The ro- 
mantic time has go7ie by. Our modern age has come with its study of the 
individual in expression. The so-called fine arts have had their day., and 
the individual ■}nan already de^nands that the arts of mankind shall be ob- 
served now. " The statue has become a living man.'''' — Franklin H. Sargent. 



ISO 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



Back each chill spectator started as from ghost of one 

departed, 
While below that haunted table every eye was quickly 

cast; 
Where, beneath the cover hiding, round the gambler's 

ankles gliding, 




In the dark a deadly cobra was distinctly seen at last, 
That had coiled itself about him till at length his feet 
were fast, 

Till each comrade stood aghast. 

One by one they drew back gently from the wretch, 
whose eye intently 



Three characteristics utay be attributed to respiration: vocal^ logical^ pa~ 
iheticy or passional. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 131 

Followed them as they receded through the shadows of 

the room; 
For each face too plainly told him that no hand should 

e'er unfold him 
From those cold and clammy cerements, those chill 

cerements of the tomb. 
While, from underneath the table, craning up from out 

the gloom. 

Shone a deadly eye of doom. 

Slowly round the gambler toiling, sinuously coiling, 

coiling. 
Crept the cobra, higher, higher, up the limbs, the loins, 

the breast; 
Slowly round his body bending, all its angry hood 

distending 
At the vulgar jewels flaming on the gambler's velvet 

vest. 
Upward on its awful errand by its victim little guessed. 
Upward still that cobra pressed. 

Tightly round that arm entwining craned that lidless 
eyeball, shining 

On the red card flashing o'er it fiercely as a blood- 
stained brand; 

When, without an instant's warning, suddenly, as if in 
scorning 

For that despicable, damning deed it seemed to under- 
stand. 

See! its runs its flickering tongue out, hisses, gleets its 
poisoned gland 

Through the gambler's bleeding hand. 



To think of the Delsarte -method as a system of gesture only, is to think nar- 
rowly and restrictively. Ejcpression is the interior fnind or soul manifesting 
itself through the exterior stibstance or body. The Delsarte philosophy^ then, 
is an analysis of the psychic element of man as made from the standpoint of 
manifestation. — Moses True Brown. 

. — t- . — _ 4 



132 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

"Fiend!'* he cried, "whence art thou, whither? who 

this night hath sent thee hither, 
Thou who standest here before me wrapt in cowl of 

Capuchin; 
Thou who thus upon me stealing, round me this dread 

coil art reeling? 
Art thou some avenging spirit, some dire bodiment of 

sin. 
Through whom Satan thus hath darkly to my lost soul 

entered in. 

This last game of life to wnn? 

" Art thou, gliding from the garden, one whom God 
refused to pardon. 

One whose poison through my pulses naught can fol- 
low or o'ertake; 

One whose dark temptations found me, grew up stealth- 
ily around me. 

Till at last bad habits bound me with these chains I 
cannot break?" 

Then, as mind and memory wandered, sadly to that 
deadly snake. 

Still the dying gambler spake. 

" 'Tis a dream; the past comes o'er me. Lo, there rises 

one before me 
From whose waving hand I wandered when life's day 

was in its dawn; 
Through the gateways of the city, cold alike to pain 

and pity. 
Smooth knaves whispered, bright jades beckoned, till 

their toils were round me drawn. 



Inspiration is an element of dissimulation^ concentration^ pain. — Del- 

SARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 133 

Till I drank, staked, won, lost, borrowed, lost again, 
stole, put to pawn 

All I had till all was gone. 

^^ 'Tis her arm around me wreathing, 'tis — what means 

this hissing breathing? 
Comrades, help! the room swims around me; quick! 

my pulses reel and nod; 
Quick! the warning grows; I'm dying! Oh, that I this 

night were lying 
In those empty arms that loved me, on that broken 

heart I trod 
With the iron heel of scorning down into the daisied 

sod, 

O my mother! O my God !" 

Dimly then above the table ebbed the lamp, no longer 
able 

On that face to smile serenely as the poison played its 
part; 

While, about the gambler glancing, like dissolving col- 
ors dancing. 

On the oscillating darkness with kaleidoscopic art, 

Brightly flashed that lidless eyeball, javelling its drink- 
ing dart. 

Through his conscience-stricken heart. 

"Fiend!" he cried, as it grew stronger,'^! can stand 

that look no longer. 
By this pain that works within me, by this awful death 

so nigh, 
Take that lidless eyeball off me; take it off, I curse thee, 

scoff thee! 

■^ 



^ 



The suspension or prolongation oj' a move/nejit is one of the great sources of 
effect It is in suspension that force and interest co7tsist. A good thing- is 
ivorth being kept in sight long enough to allow an enjoyment of the view.— 
Dklaumosne. 



134 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Now I know thee! thou art conscience; I will never, 

never die 
With the eye of conscience on me !" Then a loud hiss 

made reply: 

^^ Conscience never shuts its eye." 

Black and swollen and distorted grew his face, while 
round him sported 

The fierce snake in gleaming fury, hissing at his fright- 
ful pain; 

Till, with one v^ild shriek, he seized it, in his stiffening 
death-grip squeezed it 

Till its ghastly eye protruded, till it swelled in every 
vein; 

Bent it, shook it, flung it from him horribly, but all in 
vain; 

Still that eye turned back again. 

Maddened by the deadly ichor, as the poison quick and 
quicker 

Boiled and bubbled through his pulses, tight and tight- 
er grew his hold; 

Till, for breath the cobra gasping, coil on coil around 
him clasping. 

With its gnarled and knotted muscles twisting in each 
writhing fold. 

See ! it stings itself, it blackens, till from out his grasp, 
behold! 

Red, that bloodshot eyeball rolled ! 

Slowly died the light around him; mute and motion- 
less they found him. 

When the deadly fray was over, sitting bolt within his 
chair; 



*- 



The articulation of the syllables la^ viOy po, is a use/ul exercise in habittcat- 
ing one to the inediujn voice. These are the musical consonants par excellence. 
They give charm to^ and develop the voice. We can repeat these tones without 
fatiguing the vocal chords^ since they are prodticed by the articulative appa- 
ratus .—T>¥.\j=>kycyk. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 135 

With the snake about him tangled, in his stiffened fin- 
gers strangled, 
Each upon the other glowering with a wild, defiant glare, 
Eyeball upon eyeball shining through the solemn dark- 
ness there. 

Conscience fixed upon Despair ! 

And with none, alas! to aid him, there they smoothed 

his lids and laid him 
With the cobra in his death-clutch down beneath the 

haunted heap; 
Where, upon his dreamless pillow, turned for him where 

drooped the willow. 
In the grave beyond the billow, that lone grave so dark, 

so deep. 
In that grave that lidless eyeball still its solemn watch 

doth keep, 

Conscience staring in its sleep. 




The expression of nature by gesture, face, or voice will not come to the ar- 
tist by inspiration nor by reflection^ especially in extreme situations. — Ar- 

NA.UD. 



136 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

FAITH AND WORKS. 



William H. Montgomery. 



T ITTLE Mollie and Faith, in the arbor at play, 

Were making a marigold crown, 
When a noise on the lawn made the little ones jump 
And scatter the gold flowers down. 

And, fast toward the bower of blossoms and vines, 

Came a quadruped, bristling and big, 
With sharp-pointed toes, and a queer, grunty nose, 

In short, 'twas a terrible pig. 

'*Oh, mercy!" screamed Faith, " where, where shall we 
go? 

Oh, mamma, oh, papa, come here! 
He's going to tear us to pieces, I know," 

And she jumped up and down in her fear. 

But Mollie, more brave, raised the old crooked gate, 
And slammed it quite hard to its place ; 

Then Faith, kneeling down on the moss-covered ground, 
Toward the sky turned her little pale face. 



**Now, Mollie, I'll pray to our Father in Heaven 

To save us and drive him away. 
That's the very best thing in the world to be done, 

Yoii hold the gate strong while I pray.'' 

— + 



t 



When two lunbs follow the same direction^ they cannot be simultaneous 
without violating the law of opposition. Therefore^ direct movements should 
be successive., opposite i-novements should be simtiltaneous. — Delsarte. 




iSIS. 




FORTUNA. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 137 

Dear mamma's blue eyes twinkled 'bright through her 
tears, 

When the marvelous story was told 
Of the prayerful escape of her two little girls 

From the monster, so savage and bold. 



HOW BURLINGTON WAS SAVED. 



C. Mair. 



A STORY worth telling our annals afford, 

'Tis the wonderful journey of Laura Secord. 
Her poor crippled husband came home with the news 
That Boerstler was nigh ! *' Not a minute to lose. 
Not an instant," said Laura, ^' for stoppage or pause — 
I must hurry and warn our brave troops at Decaw's." 
" What ! you !" said her husband, ^' to famish and tire !'* 
" Yes, I !" said brave Laura, her bosom on fire. 
"And how will you pass the gruff sentry?" said he, 
" Who is posted so near us ?" 

" Just wait till you see; 
The foe is approaching, and means to surprise 
Our troops, as you tell me. Oh, husband, there flies 
No dove with a message so needful as this — 
I'll take it, I'll bear it. Good-bye, with a kiss." 
Then a biscuit she ate, tucked her skirts well about, 
And a bucket she slung on each arm, and went out. 

'Twas the bright blush of dawn when the stars melt 
away. 



Expression^ beside the description of the object^ may explain the subject or 
interior emotion^ and is then not imitative^ but suggestive^ elliptic^ a7id mys- 
tic. — Franklin H. Sargent. 



138 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Dissolved like a dream by the breath of the day; ' 

But Laura had eyes for her duty alone; 

She marked not the glow and the gloom that were 

thrown. 
Behind was the foe, full of craft and of guile ; 
Before her a long day of travel and toil. 
^* No time this for gazing," said Laura, as near 
To the sentry she drew. 

*^ Halt! You cannot pass here." 
** I cannot pass here! Why, sirrah, you drowse. 
Are you blind? Don't you see I am off to my cows?" 
" Well^ well, you can go." So she w^ended her way 
To the pasture's lone side, where the farthest cow lay, 
Got her up, then knelt down, and, with pail at her 

knees, 
Made her budge, inch by inch, till she drew by degrees 
To the edge of the forest. *^ I've hoaxed, on my word, 
Both you and the sentry," said Laura Secord. 

With a lingering look at her home, then away 
She sped through the wild wood — a wilderness gray, 
Where the linden had space for its fans and its flowers, 
The balsam its tents, and the cedar its bowers; 
Where the lord of the forest, the oak, had its realm^ 
The ash its domain, and its kingdom the elm. 

And denser and deeper the solitude grew. 

The underwood thickened, and drenched her with dew. 

She tripped over moss-covered logs, fell, arose. 

Sped, and stumbled again by the hour, till her clothes 



Every agreeable or disagreeable sight makes the body react backward. The 
degree of reaction should be in proportion to the degree of interest caused by 
the sight of the object. — Delsarte. 
^ 



BELSARTE RECITATION BOOK 139 

Were rent by the branches and thorns, and her feet 
Grew tender and way-worn and blistered with heat. 

She stopped — it was noonday. The wilds she espied 
Seemed solitudes measureless. ^' Help me!" she cried; 
Her piteous lips parched with thirst, and her eyes 
Strained with gazing. The sun in his infinite skies 
Looked down on no creature more hapless than she. 
One moment she faltered. Beware ! What is this? 
The coil of the serpent ! the rattlesnake's hiss! 
One moment, then onward. What sounds far and near? 
The howl of the wolf, yet she turned not in fear. 

She toiled to the highway, then over the hill. 
And down the deep valley, and past the old mill. 
And through the next woods, till, at sunset, she came 
To the first British picket, and murmured her name; 
Thence, guarded by Indians, footsore and pale. 
She was led to Fitzgibbon, and told him her tale. 

For a moment her reason forsook her; she raved, 

She laughed, and she cried — " They are saved, they are 

saved !" 
Then her senses returned, and, with thanks loud and 

deep 
Sounding sweetly around her, she sank into sleep. 
And Boerstler came up, but his movements were known. 
His force w^as surrounded, his scheme was o'erthrown 
By a woman's devotion; on stone be it engraved. 
The foeman was beaten, and Burlington saved. 



The opposition of the agents is the harmony of gesture. Harmony is born 
of contrasts. Frotn opposition., equilibriiim is born in turn. Equilibrium, is 
the great lazv of gesture., and condemns parallelism. — Delaumosxe. 



I40 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Arranged by Elsie M, Wilbor. 



\ KNIGHT of gallant deeds 
-^~^ And a young page at his side, 
From the holy war in Palestine 

Did slow and thoughtful ride, 
As each were a palmer, and told for beads 

The dews of the eventide. 

" O young page," said the knight, 

** A noble page art thou! 
Thou fearest not to steep in blood 

The curls upon thy brow; 
And once in the tent, and twice in the fight, 

Didst ward me a mortal blow.'* 

" O brave knight," said the page, 

" Or ere we hither came. 
We talked in tent, we talked in field, 

Of the bloody battle game; 
But here, below this greenwood bough 

I cannot speak the same." 

** Sir page, I pray your grace! 

Certes, I meant not so 
To cross your pastoral mood, sir page. 

With the crook of the battle-bow. 
But a knight may speak of a lady's face, 
I ween, in any mood or place, 

If the grasses die or grow. 



Flame contains the warmth of life and the light of the mind. As the soul 
contains and unites the life and the mindy so the fame warms and shines.— 
Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 141 

** And this, I meant to say, — 

My lady's face shall shine 
As ladies' faces use, to greet 

My page from Palestine: 
Or speak she fair, or prank she gay, 

She is no lady of mine. 

" And this I meant to fear, — 

Her bovver may suit thee ill! 
For, sooth, in that same field and tent, 

Thy talk was somewhat still; 
And fitter thy hand for thy knightly spear, 

Than thy tongue for my lady's will." 

Slowly and thankfully 

The young page bowed his head; 
His large eyes seemed to muse a smile, 

Until he blushed instead; 
And no lady in her bovver, pardie, 

Could blush more sudden red — 
" Sir knight, thy lady's bower to me. 

Is suited well," he said. 

" A boon, thou noble knight, 

If ever I served thee! 
Though thou art a knight and I am a page. 

Now grant a boon to me — 
And tell me, sooth, if dark or bright, 
If little loved or loved aright, 
Be the face of thy laiye." 

Gloomily looked the knight: 
** As a son thou hast served me: 



A slight change of thought vtay alter the expression of the face ^ but the at- 



titude should be held until a new impression is to be expressed. — Genevieve 
Stebbins. 






142 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And would to none I had granted boon, 

Except to only thee! 
For, haply, then I should love aright, 
For then I should know if dark or bright 

Were the face of my ladye. 

'* Earl Walter was a brave old earl, 

He was my father's friend; 
And while I rode the lists at court 

And little guessed the end, 
My noble father in his shroud, 
Against a slanderer lying loud, 

He rose up to defend. 

** I would my hand had fought that fight 

And justified my father! 
I would my heart had caught that wound 

And slept beside him rather! 
I think it were a better thing 
Than murthered friend and marriage-ring 

Forced on my life together. 

" Wail shook Earl Walter's house — 

His true wife shed no tear — 
She lay upon her bed as mute 

As the earl did on his bier; 
Till — * Ride, ride fast,' she said at last, 

* And bring the avenged son near! 
Ride fast — ride free, as a dart can flee, 
For white of blee with waiting for me 

Is the corse of the next chambere.' 



Pathetic effects are nine in number^ the principal of ivhick are as follows: 
the smothered tone, the ragged tone; the vibrant tone: the veiled tone: the flat 
or compressed tone. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 143 

" I came — I knelt beside her bed — 

Her calm was worse than strife: 
* My husband, for thy father dear, 
Gave freely, when thou wert not here, 

His own and eke my life. 
A boon! Of that sweet child we make 
An orphan for thy father's sake, 

Make thou for our's a wife.' 

" I said: ^ My steed neighs in the court, 

My bark rocks on the brine; 
And the warrior's vow^ I am under now 

To free the pilgrim's shrine; 
But fetch the ring and fetch the priest 

And call that daughter of thine; 
And rule she wude from my castle on Nyde 

While I am in Palestine.* 

" In the dark chambere, if the bride was fair. 

Ye wis, I could not see; 
But the steed thrice neighed, and the priest fast 
prayed 

And wedded fast were w^e. 
Her mother smiled upon her bed. 
As at its side we knelt to wed; 
And the bride rose from her knee 
And kissed the smile of her mother dead, 

Or ever she kissed me. 

" My page, my page, what grieves thee so, 
That the tears run down thy face?'* 
" Alas, like mine own sister 
Was thy lady's case! 



7 True grace in adults is not that which is studied^ 7ior that which is artisti- 
cally copied from a badly-chosen type. Grace is born of itself^ the natural 
fruit of the culture of the mind., of elevated thoughts and noble sentiments. — 
Arnaud. 

4" — — — — — — — — —4 



144 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

But she laid down the silks she wore 
And followed him she wed before, 
Disguised as his true servitor, 
To the very battle-place." 

And wept the page, but laughed the knight, 

A careless laugh laughed he: 
"Well done it were for thy sister, 

But not for my ladye! 
My love, so please you, shall requite 
No woman, whether dark or bright, 

Unwomaned if she be." 

The page stopped weeping, he smiled no more, 

But passionately he spake: 
** Oh, womanly she prayed in tent. 

When none beside did wake! 
Oh, womanly she paled in fight, 

For one beloved's sake! 
And her little hand defiled with blood. 
Her tender tears of womanhood 

Most woman-pure did make!" 

" Well done it were for thy sister; 

Thou tellest well her tale! 
But for my lady, she shall pray 

r the kirk of Nydesdale. 
Not dread for me but love for me 

Shall make my lady pale. 
No casque shall hide her woman's tear — 
It shall have room to trickle clear 

Behind her woman's veil." 



The chest is a passive agent: it should furnish nothing but the breath. The 
mouth and the larynx alone are entitled to act. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 145 

" But what if she mistook thy mind 

And followed thee to strife; 
Then, kneeling, did entreat thy love, 

As Paynims ask for life?" 
" I would forgive, and evermore 
Would love her as my servitor, 

But little as my wife. 

" Look up — there is a small bright cloud 

Alone amid the skies! 
So high, so pure, and so apart, 

A woman's honor lies." 
The page looked up — the cloud was sheen — 
A sadder cloud did rush, I ween. 

Betwixt it and his eyes. 

Then dimly dropped his eyes away 

From welkin unto hill — 
Ha! who rides there? — the page is 'ware, 

Though the cry at his heart is still! 
And the page seeth all and the knight seeth none 
Though banner and spear do fleck the sun, 

And the Saracens ride at will. 

He speaketh calm, he speaketh low: 

" Ride fast, my master, ride. 
Or ere within the broadening dark 

The narrow shadows hide!" 
"Yea, fast, my page; I will do so; 

And keep thou at my side." 

** Now nay, now nay, ride on thy way, 
Thy faithful page precede! 



He only is a great orator who can utter reason luithoui passion. — Moses 
True Brown. 



146 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

For I must loose on saddle bow 
My battle-casque that galls, I trow. 

The shoulder of my steed; 

Ere night I shall be near to thee, 

Now ride, my master, ride!" 

Had the knight looked up in the page's face, 

I ween he had never gone; 
Had the knight looked back to the page's geste, 

I ween he had turned anon. 
For dread was the woe in the face so young; 
And wild was the silent geste that flung 
Casque, sword, to earth, as the boy downsprung, 

And stood— alone, alone! 

He clinched his hands as if to hold 

His souTs great agony; 
" Have I renounced my womanhood, 

For wifehood unto thee2 
And is this the last, last look of thine 

That ever I shall see? 

" Yet God thee save, and may'st, thou have 

A lady to thy mind; 
More woman proud and half as true 

As one thou leav'st behind! 
And God me take with Him to dwell — 
For Him I cannot love too well, 

As I have loved my kind.'* 

The tramp of hoof, the flash of steel — 
The Paynims round her coming! 



Persuade yourself that there are blind ^nen and deaf men in your audience 
ivhojn you must vi07)e^ interest ^ and persuade. Your infection must becotne 
pantomifne to the blind^ and your pantomime^ infection to the deaf. — Del- 

SARTE. 

4. . . 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 147 

The sound and sight have made her calm, 

False page, but truthful woman! 
She stands amid them all unmoved; 
The heart once broken by the loved 

Is strong to meet the foeman. 

"Ho, Christian page! art keeping sheep, 

From pouring wine cups resting?'* 
" I keep my master's noble name 

For warring, not for feasting; 
And if that here Sir Hubert were, 
My master brave, my master dear. 

Ye would not stay to question." 

" Where is thy master, scornful page. 

That we may slay or bind him?" 
" Now search the lea and search the wood, 

And see if ye can find him! 
Nathless, as hath been often tried. 
Your Paynim heroes faster ride. 

Before him than behind him.'* 

"Give smoother answers, lying page, 

Or perish in the lying." I 

" I trow that if the warrior brand 
Beside my foot, were in my hand, 

'Twere better at replying." 
They cursed her deep, they smote her low. 
They cleft her golden ringlets through: 

The loving is the dying. 



Feelings thought^ and affection are the three forms or acts of being. Feeling 
springs from a sensitive principle of being; thought from a reflective; love 
from, an affective. From the sensitive principle of being ffoiv passional emo- 
tions; from the reflective principle of being flow rational etnotions; from 
the affective principle of being flow moral or volitional emotions, — Steele 
Mackaye. 



148 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

SUE AN' ME. 



David Belasco. 



" T TGH, ugh! I'm awful sick, mister, I am. Jus' got 
out ter-day, an* I kin hardly talk. I hopes I 
won't ketch the fever, I do," spoke a ragged little urchin 
with trembling voice and tearful eyes, on a bitter cold, 
snowy night. 

" 'Tain't no use o' yer talkin', mister; I ain't a-goin' ter 
part with Sue/' continued he, pointing to a sickly-look- 
ing child fast asleep on the curbstone. " I'd like ter know 
what I'd do without her, I would. " I never had no 
father nor mother, as I knows of; an' as for Sue, her'n 
is dead an' buried as them as 'as no friends nor money are 
put away. We ain't got nobody in the world but our- 
selves — but we does werry well as we is. We don't want 
nare a body. Sue an' me. She ain't my sister, but she's 
jus' as good as one. Her own mother give her ter me, 
when she were only a little thing, so high. I lived along 
with old Jacob Prue, then, an' Sue an' her mother lived 
in the room above our'n. Sue an' me we used to play 
together, an' I cared more for her than anythink else in 
the v/orld. By an' by Jacob Prue got sent ter prison for 
breakin' open a shop; an' Sue's mother she let me live 
in her room, an' give me vittals — when she had any. 
We wuz just as happy as cherrybyns, was Sue an' me 
an' her mother till the fever come. The people in our 
alley died awful, an' Sue's mother wuz tuk. We had 
the doctor from the hospital — but she didn't get no bet- 
ter; an' one night when I came in, she called me, an* 
she sez ' Bill, I'm a-goin';' * Where?' sez I, for I thought 



Any interrogation viade with crossed arins 7nust partake of the character \ 
of a threat. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 149 

she wuz a-talkin' some of the mad rubbidge she used ter 
when the fever was strong; but she wuzn't — she wuz 
sensible as you; an' she tells me agin: ^ Bill, I'm a-goin'.' 
^^ I didn't ask her where then. I knowed she wuz 
goin' ter die, an' I put my head on the piller an' cried 
fur the fust time since she wuz tuk; an' Sue cried too; 
an' we wuz a miserable lot of us in that ere attic. Arter 
a bit I wuz quiet. I picked out my bes' bit o' bread an' 
meat, an' tried ter feed her — but it wuzn't of no good, 
mister; she was a-goin' with the fever. So she sez, with 
a smile ter kinder make me feel better, * It ain't no use. 
Bill, I'm a-goin' fast.' Then she tuk my hand, an' said, 
solemn-like: 'Bill, promise when I'm dead as you'll look 
arter Sue; she ain't got no friend in the world but her 
poor, dyin' mother an' you.' 'I will,' sez I; * I'll stick 
ter Sue like bricks an' mortar.' 'Bill,' she went on, 
' you won't let her steal?' * Never,' sez I; ' I'll look arter 
her as good as you do, I will.' She wuz a bit pleased 
at that, an' we wuz all quiet. It wuz gittin' darkish an' 
her face looked whiter an' whiter; an' Sue had gone to 
sleep, jus' as you see her now, an' I an' her mother wuz 
awake, waitin' like for the end of it. All of a suddint 
she called out an' tuk my hand. 

" ' Bill,' sez she, ' kneel an' say '' Our Father." ' 
'' I didn't know what she meant, but I got on my knees 
alongside o' her, an' looked up to where she wuz a-pointin' 
ter a star through the winder, an' I kep' on a-sayin' it — 
'Our Father, Our Father, Our Father,' an' a-wonderin' 
all the time where He wuz; an' when I looked roun' she 
wuz gone. Nex' mornin* she wuz tuk away, an' little 
Sue an' me we's ben together ever since. Ah! the the- 
ayter's out; I mus' be a-goin'. See, Sue's wakin' up — 



Not things themselves^ but the principles that are their esse7ice^ should 
be the grand study. — Franklin H. Sargent. 



^- 



I50 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

she dreamed las' night she wuz a-eatin' beefsteak an* 
gravy with lots of brown injins, an' I hopes ter make it 
real ter-night. Good-bye, mister ; I'm werry much 
obliged; but it would be worser'n than the fever ter 
part Sue an' me." 



THE DISCUSSION. 



Translated and Adapted from the French. 

Smith. 



Dramatis Per sonce : -^ j^.t^^ 
( Jones. 

Scene : A parlor. 

[The words in brackets are not to be spoken. They simply give the 
idea that is in Jones's mind, and that the tone of his voice is supposed to 
convey. Very taking when well done, and an excell^t study in panto- 
mime. — Editor.] 

CMITH \enteri7ig^ followed by Jones\, Well! even then! 
Besides, what would you do? 

']o^Y.'^\_shaking his head sig7tificantly\ Hm! hm! hm! 

Smith. Unless . . . Oh! then it would be quite differ- 
ent. Just think! 

Jones. Hm! hm.! 

Smith. Then you don't think any arrangements could 
be made. It would be useless to try, wouldn't it? 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! ]^I think so ^ 

Smith. On the other hand, I think it would be better, 
don't you? 

Jones. Hm! hm! [Maybe.] 

Smith. To tell the truth, I don't really care; I am 



Perhaps the best gesture is that which is the least apparent. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 151 

only interested in the matter on his account. What I 

am afraid of is what people might say about it. 

Jones. Hm! \That is so?^ 

Smith. People are so unkind. And then it is such a 

delicate matter. The newspapers will soon make a 

scandal out of it! 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! \Yes^ a great scandal^ 

Smith. The report should have been denied from the 

start; now it is too late. 

Jones. Hm! \You are right?[ 

Smith. Attempt a reconciliation? He would never 

consent to that; and, besides, it would be impossible. 

But wait — no, that wouldn't do. What do you think? 
Jones. Hm! hm! [// is hard to say.] 

Smith. I cannot tell which would be better. I don't 

know what to say! Let things take their course? What 

is your opinion? 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! \^I should not dare say ?[ 

Smith. You don't dare give an opinion? I knov/ it is 

hard. 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! \Yes^ very hardP[ 

Smith. What would be the result? Come to think of 

it, there are no reasons for . . . To be sure. . . but then 

. . . We would have to . , . only! — There is no denying 

it, it is incomprehensible. 

Jones. Hm! hm! hmhm! \^l7tcomprehensibIe.'\ 

Smith. For my part, I don't know what to say. I 

give it up. What ought he to say? 

Jones. Hm! hm! [That is somethi?ig I must consider.] 
Smith. How ought he to act? Should he be coldly 

indifferent or exceedingly angry? 



But one gesture is needed for the expression of an entire thought: since it is 

not the word but the thought that the gesture must announce: if it expressed 

only the word^ it ivojild be trivial and mean, and also prejudicial to the effect 

of the phrase. — Delaumosne. 

^ i 



152 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! 

\N either the one nor the other. ^ 

Smith. I know him better than any one. Disagreeable 
disposition. Not bearing malice, but cross, irritable. 

Jones. Hm! hm! \^Don't be too hard on him,^ 

Smith. Yes, he is irritable. I shall leave him alone. 
I do not approve of the course he has taken. Poor 
boy! 

Jones. Hm! hm! hm! hm! 

[/ don't think he was altogether wrong ?[ 

Smith. You seem to think just the contrary. How- 
ever, it cannot but give him a bad name. At any rate, 
it is nobody's fault but his own. 

Jones. Hm! {^That is so?[ 

Smith. Ah! at last you are obliged to give in. After 
all, he is a good fellow. 

Jones. Hmhmhm! hmhm! 

[/ do not agree with you there?[ 

Smith. Yes, I assure you. Things have been said 
about him, but they are false. 

Jones. Hm! hm! [I doubt it.^ 

Smith. They are false, I tell you. But we haven't 
come to any point. Don't you think we are launched 
upon a rather disagreeable affair? Do you see a way 
out of it? 

Jones. Hmhmhm ! [/ am not sure that I do.^ 

Smith. There is none, is there? The simplest thing, 
I should say, is to do nothing at all about it. 

Jones. Hm! hmhmhm! \_I guess you are right there ^ 

Smith. Come, let's go out; we can talk it over more 
freely in the street. 

[ Takes Jones's arm and both go out.'\ 



If you would move others^ put your heart in the place of your larynx; let 
your voice become a mysterious hand to caress the hearer. — Delsartk. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 153 

CONVERSATIONAL. 



^' T_J OWS your father ?" Came the whisper, 

Bashful Ned the silence breaking; 
** Oh, he's nicely," Annie murmured, 
Smilingly the question taking. 

Conversation flagged a moment, 

Hopeless, Ned essayed another: 
^^ Annie, I — I," then a coughing, 

And the question, ^^ How's your mother?" 

"Mother? Oh, she's doing nicely!" 
Fleeting fast was all forbearance. 

When in low, despairing accents 

Came the climax, " How's your parents ?" 



THE LOW-BACKED CAR. 



Samuel Lover. 



^17' HEN first I saw sweet Peggy, 

'Twas on a market-day. 
A low-backed car she drove, and sat 

Upon a truss of hay; 
But when that hay was blooming grass, 

And decked with flowers of spring, 
No flower was there, that could compare 

To the blooming girl I sing! 



1/ the voice is the soul of the drama, facial expression is its life. — Rev, W. 
R. Alger. 



154 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Music to ''''The Low-backed Car,^^ 

Lively^ hut not too fast. 




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DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 155 

Music to ''''The Low-backed Car.'''* 




' fe^j^^d ^ar ^^^Hff J^H^ 




156 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

As she sat in her low-backed car, 

The man at the turnpike bar, 
Never asked for the toll, 
But just rubbed his auld poll. 

And looked after the low-backed car! 

In battle's wild commotion, 

The proud and mighty Mars, 
With hostile scythes demands his tythes 

Of death, in warlike cars! 
But Peggy, peaceful goddess. 

Has darts in her bright eye. 
That knock men down in the market-town, 

As right and left they fly! 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 

Than battle more dangerous far. 
For the doctor's art cannot cure the heart 

That is hit from the low-backed car! 

Sweet Peggy round her car, sir! 

Has strings of ducks and geese. 
But the scores of hearts she slaughters, 

By far outnumber these; 
While she among her poultry sits. 

Just like a turtle-dove. 
Well worth the cage, I do engage. 

Of the blooming god of love! 
While she sits in her low-backed car, 

The lovers come near and far. 
And envy the chicken that Peggy is pickin'. 

While she sits in her low-backed car! 



Nothing is more deplorable than a gesture without a motive. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 157 

I'd rather own that car, sir, 

With Peggy by my side, 
Than a coach and four, and gold galore, 

And a lady for my bride; 
For the lady would sit forninst me, 

On a cushion made with taste, — 
While Peggy would be beside me. 

With my arm around her waist, 
As we drove in the low-backed car, 

To be married by Father Maher; 
Oh, my heart would beat high, at her glance and her 

sigh, 
. Tho' it beat in a low-backed car! 



COUNT GISMOND. 



Robert Browning. 



[The following incident in her life is told by the wife of Count Gis- 
mond to a friend, while the count is not present. His sudden entrance 
and the quick, graceful change of conversation which the wife makes 
as she sees him, that he may not be pained by recalling unpleasant 
events, affords opportunity for the reciter's tact in the closing stanza. 
The selection is very effective when the reciter seats herself with appar- 
ent unconsciousness of the act during the second stanza, rising at the 
words '* Gismond here," in the last stanza. — Editor.] 

/^^HRIST GOD who savest man, save most 
^^ Of men Count Gismond who saved me! 
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post, 

Chose time and place and company 
To suit it; when he struck at length 
My honor, 'twas with all his strength. 

t 

Gesture is a running commentary on the words. It should not be used \ 
] merely for emphasis^ but to explain and color the fiieaning. — Genevieve 1 
: Stebbins. 



158 DLESARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And doubtlessly, ere he could draw 

All points to one, he must have schemed! 

That miserable morning saw 
Few half so happy as I seemed, 

While being dressed in queen's array 

To give our tourney prize away. 

I thought they loved me, did me grace 

To please themselves: 'twas all their deed. 

God makes, or fair or foul, our face. 
If showing mine so caused to bleed 

My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped 

A word and straight the play had stopped. 

But no: they let me laugh, and sing 

My birthday song quite through, adjust 

The last rose in my garland, fling 
A last look on the mirror, trust 

My arms to each an arm of theirs, 

And so descend the castle-stairs — 

And come out on the morning troop 
Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, 

And called me queen, and made me stoop 
Under the canopy — (a streak 

That pierced it, of the outside sun, 

Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun) — 

And they could let me take my state 
And foolish throne amid applause 
Of all come there to celebrate • 



To use expression at random on our own authority^ expression at all haz- 
ards^ is absurd. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 159 

My queen's-day — oh, I think the cause 
Of much was, they forgot no crowd 
Makes up for parents in their shroud! 

However that be, all eyes were bent 

Upon me, when my cousins cast 
Theirs down; 'twas time I should present 

The victor's crown, but . . . there, 'twill last 
No long time . . . the old mist again 
Blinds me as then it did. How vain! 

See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk 
With his two boys: I can proceed. 

Well, at that moment, who should stalk 
Forth boldly — to my face, indeed — 

But Gauthier? and he thundered "Stay!" 

And all stayed. " Bring no crowns, I say! 

" Bring torches! Wind the penance-sheet 
About herl Let her cleave to right, 

Or lay herself before our feet! 

Shall she, who sinned with me at night, 

Unblushing, queen it in the day? 

For honor's sake no crowns, I say!" £ 

I ? What I answered ? As I live, 

I never fancied such a thing 
As answ^er possible to give. 

What says the body when they spring 
Some monstrous torture-engine's whole 
Strength on it? No more says the soul. 



Gestures are J>antomimic verbs, and always imply an action. Attitudes are 
pantomimic adverbs.^ and qualify gestures or actions. — Steele Mackaye. 



l6o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Till out strode Gismond: then I knew 
That I was saved. I never met 

His face before; but, at first view, 
I felt quite sure that God had set 

Himself to Satan: who would spend 

A minute's mistrust on the end ? 

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat 

Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth 

With one back-handed blow that wrote 

In blood men's verdict then. North, south, 

East, west, I looked. The lie was dead 

And damned, and truth stood up instead. 

This glads me most, that I enjoyed 
The heart o' the joy, with my content 

In watching Gismond, unalloyed 
By any doubt of the event; 

God took that on Him — I was bid 

Watch Gismond for my part: I did. 

And e'en before the trumpet's sound 

Was finished, prone lay the false knight, 

Prone as his lie, upon the ground: 
Gismond flew at him, used no slight 

O' the sword, but, open-breasted, drove, 

Cleaving till out the truth he clove. 

Which done, he dragged him to my feet. 

And said, " Here die, but end thy breath 
In full confession, lest thou fleet 



Art is not an imitation of nature; art is better than nature. It is nature I 
I illuminated. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. i6i 

From my first to God's second death! 
Say, hast thou lied ?" And, " I have lied 
To God and her," he said, and died. 

Then Gismond kneeling to me asked 
— What safe my heart holds, though no word 

Could I repeat now, if I tasked 
My powers forever, to a third. 

Dear even as you are. Pass the rest 

Until I sank upon his breast. 

Over my head his arm he flung 

Against the world; and scarce I felt 

His sword (that dripped by me and swung) 
A little shifted in its belt. 

For he began to say the while 

How south our home lay many a mile. 

So 'mid the shouting multitude 

We tv^^o walked forth to never more 

Return. My cousins have pursued 
Their lives, untroubled as before 

I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place 

God lighten! May his soul find grace! 

Our elder boy has got the clear 

Great brow; though when his brother's black 
Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here ? 

And have you brought my tercel back? 
I was just telling Adela 
How many birds it struck since May. 



A man who menaces with the head is not sure of his aim^ hut he who men- 
aces with the hand is sure of striking right. — Delaumosne. 



1 62 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE TRUMPETER'S BE- 
TROTHED. 



Translated by Lucy H. Hooper. 



IV/r Y lord, the Duke of Brittany, 

For wars in which his soul delights, 
Has called from Nantes to far Montague, 
On the mount and in the plain. 
All the bravest of his knights. 

There are barons whose proud flags 
Wave their moated keeps above; 

Valiant sires in arms grown old, 

Warriors in ranks untold- 
One of them's the man I love! 

He has gone to Aquitaine 

As a trumpeter, and yet 
You would take him for a knight, 
With his garb all gold bedight. 

And his head so proudly set. 

Joining unto mine his fate, 

I have prayed my patron saint: 
*^Make his guardian angel keep 
Watch the while he wake or sleep, 
For with fear my heart grows faint." 

I have said to our good priest, 
" Father, for our soldiers pray!" 

Then at holy Gildas' shrine 

Three wax tapers fair and fine, 
I have lighted yesterday. 



There are two kinds of loud voices: the vocally loiid^ ivhich is the vulgar 
I voice: and the dynai7iically loud^ zuhich is the powerful voice, — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 163 

Homeward from the wars to-day, 

Comes he at his monarch's side ; 
He's no common lover now, 
I can lift my erst bowed brow, 

And my joy is blent with pride. 

Conquering the duke returns. 

With his war-worn flag above. 
For the cortege come and wait, 
Soon you'll see it pass the gate, 

And the prince, and him I love! 

Come and see his gallant steed, 

Decked in honor of the day, 
As it goes with stately tread. 
Neighing, tossing up its head, 

Crowned with plumes in colors gay. 

Sisters, why so slow to dress? 

Come and see my conqueror, 
And the trumpet, wrought in gold, 
Quiv'ring in his nervous hold — 

Ah, my gallant trumpeter! 

Come to see him — he himself! 

'Neath the mantle rich and rare 
That I worked with gold and gem. 
Like a royal diadem 

He his gilded casque will wear. 

In yon church a gypsy hag, 

Calling me last night to her. 
Said (O saints watch over me!) 



By holding the initial consona7it, the 'word is pronounced as by an explosion, 
and is filled with power instead ofviere soti^id. — GKS'EYi'EX'E. Stebbins. 



1 64 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

*^ To the music's ecstasy 

There will lack a trumpeter!*' 

But Fve so prayed that I hope, 

Though with serpent glance she said, 
Pointing to an open tomb: 
*^ There, to-morrow, mid the gloom, 
I shall wait thee with the dead!" 

Hasten! no more dismal thoughts — 

Hark! the rolling drums I hear! 
Flags and flowers fill the air, 
And the throngs of ladies fair 
In the purple tents appear. 

See the long procession comes! 

Men-at-arms with heavy tread, 
Then, beneath the banner's fold. 
Barons clad in silk and gold. 

Velvet-capped each haughty head 

Next, the Persian mail admire 

Of the Templars, feared of hell! 
Under the long partisan 
Come the archers from Lausanne, 
All in buff-coats — note them well. 

Here's the duke! his banner — see. 
In the breeze it throbs and stirs; 
Now the captive flags appear. 
Heavy-drooping, shamed and drear. 
Look — here come the trumpeters! 
* * H« * * 



Art should move the secret springs of life ^ convince the inind^ and persuade 
the /^^ar/.— Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 165 

As she speaks her eager glance 

On the serried ranks is cast; 
Careless laughs the crowd around, 
Prone she falls upon the ground — 

All the trumpeters had passed! 



EVEN THIS SHALL PASS AWAY. 



/^NCE in Persia reigned a king, 

Who upon his signet ring 
Graved a maxim true and wise, 
Which, if held before the eyes, 
Gave him counsel at a glance. 
Fit for every change and chance. 
Solemn words, and these are they: 
"Even this shall pass away." 

Trains of camels through the sand 
Brought him gems from Samarcand; 
Fleets of galleys through the seas 
Brought him pearls to match with these. 
But he counted not his gain 
Treasures of the mine or main; 
** What is wealth ?" the king would say; 
"Even this shall pass away." 

In the revels of his court 
At the zenith of the sport, 
When the palms of all his guests 



I Adherence to mere author ity, tradition^ usage, or dry technicality, is fatal 
to inspiration. This carried to extremes makes the most ctdtivated player or 
speaker a mere prof essor of postures.— Rts.v . W. R. Alger. 



l66 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Burned with clapping at his jests, 
He, amid his figs and wine, 
Cried: ^' Oh, loving friends of mine! 
Pleasure comes, but not to stay; 
Even this shall pass away." 

Fighting on a furious field. 
Once a javelin pierced his shield. 
Soldiers with a loud lament 
Bore him bleeding to his tent; 
Groaning from his tortured side, 
**Pain is hard to bear," he cried, 
*^ But, with patience, day by day — - 
Even this shall pass away." 

Towering in the public square, 
Twenty cubits in the air. 
Rose his statue carved in stone. 
'Then the king, disguised, unknown, 
Stood before his sculptured name, 
Musing meekly: "What is fame? 
Fame is but a slow decay — 
Even this shall pass away." 

Struck with palsy, sere and old, 
Waiting at the gates of gold. 
Said he, with his dying breath: 
" Life is done, but what is breath ?" 
Then in answer to the king 
Fell a sunbeam on his ring. 
Showing by a heavenly ray — 
" Even this shall pass away." 

A ^ 

The ivhining^ tearful tone is always 7f^<i:/^.— Dels arte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 167 

THE PROPOSAL. 



Margaret Vandegrift. 



T_J E had been trying all the winter through 

To speak the fateful words; and well she knew 
He had been trying — but what could she do ? 

And just because he did adore her so, 

His tongue w^ould stammer, and his voice would go, 

At bare idea of a possible " No." 

He had a friend, a learned young professor, 
Him he had constituted his confessor. 
And general moral ganger and assessor. 

To him were told the maiden's simple wiles. 

Her pretty blushes and beguiling smiles. 

In many words, and various moods and styles. 

The swain would boast him to the little maid, 

When he of other subjects was afraid, 

Of all the learning that his friend displayed. 

And so, one evening, when it chanced that she 
Was bidden to an evening company. 
She went, wath hope this paragon to see. 

And he was there ; so, too, her bashful swain, 
Who, strangely, did not help her to attain 
The introduction which she hoped to gain. 

For he had suddenly grown sore afraid 

That a professor of so high a grade 

Would straight supplant him with his little maid. 

T — ■ 

He only is an elocutionist tjuho forgets elocution. — Moses True Brown. 



l68 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

She waited long, and then — most hardily 

For one who thought that maids should not be 

'^ free,"— 
^^ Will you present me to your friend?" said she. 

Now was his chance! Fiercely his pulses hammered, 

She'd surely hear his heart, so loud it clamored; 

^^ I — can't present you — you're not mine!" he stammered. 

^^ And if you were " — now, that he had begun, 
His courage rose — " I'd keep you, dearest one!" 
"Always?" she murmured. "Always!" It was done! 



JOVITA; OR, THE CHRISTMAS 
GIFT. 



Bret Harte. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 

TT had been raining in the valley of the Sacramento. 
The North Fork had overflowed its banks and Rat- 
tlesnake Creek was impassable. Farther on, cut off and 
inaccessible, smitten by high winds and threatened by 
high water, Simpson's Bar, on the eve of Christmas Day, 
clung like a swallow's nest to the mountain, and shook 
in the blast. As night shut down, a few lights gleamed 
through the mist from the cabins on either side of the 
highway. Most of the population were gathered at 
Thompson's store, clusteVed around a red-hot stove, at 
which they silently spat in some accepted sense of so- 
cial communion that rendered conversation unneces- 
sary. 



The voice should be a reflection of the expression of the face. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 169 

Just then a figure entered known to the company as 
•^The Old Man." 

" Dismal weather, ain't it?" he said. " No show for 
money this season, and to-morrow's Christmas. Yes, 
Christmas, and to-night's Christmas Eve. Ye see, boys, 
I kinder thought — that is, I sorter had an idee, jest 
passin' like, you know — that maybe ye'd all like to 
come over to my house to-night and have a sort of tear 
round. But I suppose, now, you W'Ouldn't? Don't feel 
like it, maybe?" he added, anxiously, peering into the 
faces of his companions. 

Dick BuUen, the oracle and leader of the boys, arose, 
shook himself, and saying, ^^ I'm ready; lead the way, 
Old Man; here goes," with a characteristic howl darted 
out into the night. 

Their way led up Pine-Tree Canon, at the head of 
which a broad, low, bark-thatched cabin burrowed in 
the mountain-side. It was the home of the Old Man. 

^' P'r'aps ye'd better hold on a second out yer, whilst 
I go in and see thet things is all right," said the Old 
Man. 

Presently the latch clicked, and a voice said, ^^ Come 
in out o' the wet." 

It was the voice of a small boy, in a weak treble. He 
had evidently just risen from his bed. *^Come in," he 
repeated. *^ The Old Man's in there talking to mar," 
he continued, pointing to an adjacent room. 

Entering, the men ranged themselves around a table 
of rough boards. Johnny then gravely proceeded to a 
cupboard and brought out several articles which he 
deposited on the table. '^ Thar's whiskey. And crack- 
ers. And red herons. And cheese." He took a bite 



If the orator would speak to any purpose, he must bring back his discourse to 
I some picture from nature,, to some scene from real life. — Delaumosne. 



I70 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

of the latter on his way to the table. "And sugar." 
He scooped up a mouthful with a small and very dirty 
hand. "And terbacker. Thar's dried appils, too, on 
the shelf, but I don't admire 'em. Appils is swellin'. 
Thar," he concluded, " now wade in, and don't be 
afeard." 

He stepped to the threshold of a small room holding 
a small bed, and nodded. 

"Hello, Johnny! You ain't goin' to turn in agin, are 
ye?" said Dick. 

"Yes, I are," responded Johnny. 

"Why, wot's up, old fellow?" 

"I'm sick." 

" How sick?" 

" I've got a fevier. And childblains. And roomatiz," 
returned Johnny, and vanished within. After a mo- 
ment's pause he added, "And biles!" 

It was nearly midnight when the festivities v/ere 
interrupted by the querulous voice of Johnny: "Oh, 
dad!" 

The Old Man arose and disappeared. Presently he 
reappeared 

" His roomatiz is comin' on agin bad," he explained, 
"and he wants rubbin'. You hold on all o' you for a 
spell, and I'll be back;" and vanished again. The door 
closed but imperfectly, and the following dialogue was 
audible: 

" Now, sonny, whar does she ache worst?" 

"Sometimes over yar and sometimes under yer; but 
it's most powerful from yer to yer. Rub yer, dad." 

A silence seemed to indicate a brisk rubbing. Then 
Johnny: 



Art is a regenerating or delighting power , — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 171 

^^ Hevin' a good time out y6r, dad?'* 

** Yes, sonny." 

*^ To-morrer's Chrismiss, ain't it?" 

*^ Yes, sonny. How does she feel now?" 

*^ Better. Rub a little furder down. Wot's Chris- 
miss, anyway? Wot's it all about?" 

*'Oh, it's a day." 

This exhaustive definition was apparently satisfac- 
tory, for there was a silent interval. Presently Johnny 
again: 

^' Mar sez that everywhere else but yer everybody 
gives things to everybody Chrismiss. She sez thar's a 
a man they call Sandy Claws, not a white man, you 
know, but a kind o' Chinemin, comes down the chim- 
bley night afore Chrismiss and give things to childern, 
— boys like me. Puts 'em in their butes! Thet's what 
she tried to play on me. Easy now, pop, whar are you 
rubbin' to, thet's a mile from the place. She jest made 
thet up, didn't she, jest to aggrewate me and you ? 
Don't rub thar. It's mighty cur'o's about Chrismiss, 
ain't it ? Why do they call it Chrismiss ?" 

The Old Man's reply was so low as to be inaudible 
beyond the room. 

" Yes," said Johnny, *^ I've heerd o' him before. Thar, 
that'll do, dad. I don't ache near so bad as I did. 
Now wrap me tight in this yer blanket. So. Now, sit 
down yer by me till I go asleep," and to assure himself 
of obedience, he grasped his father's sleeve. 

For some minutes the Old Man waited patiently. 
Then the stillness excited his curiosity, and, without 
moving from the bed, he cautiously opened the door 
and looked into the main room. It was dark and de- 



The most precious relish of conversation^ a7td the divinest charm of man- 
nerSy is the living play of the spirit in the features^ and the spontaneous modu- 
lation of the form by the passing experience. — Rev. W. R. Alger. 



172 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

serted; but a smouldering log on the hearth broke, and 
by the blaze he saw Dick Bullen. 

^' Hello!" 

Dick started. 

'^ Whar's the boys?'* said the Old Man. 

*^ Gone up the canon. They're comin' back for me in 
a minit. Now don't you git up," as the Old Man made 
a movement to release his sleeve from Johnny's hand. 
^^ Don't you mind manners. Sit jest whar you be; I'm 
goin' in a jiffy. Thar, that's them now." 

There was a low tap at the door. Dick opened it 
quickly, nodded " good-night " to his host, and disap- 
peared. The Old Man would have followed him but 
for the hand that unconsciously grasped his sleeve. He 
could have easily disengaged it: it was small, weak, and 
emaciated. But perhaps because it was small, weak, 
and emaciated, he changed his mind, and, drawing his 
chair closer to the bed, rested his head upon it. The 
room faded before his eyes, went out and left him 
asleep. 

Meantime Dick Bullen confronted his companions. 

^' Are you ready?" said one. 

'^ Ready," said Dick; *^ what's the time ?" 

*^ Past twelve," was the reply. "Can you make it? 
It's nigh on fifty miles, the round trip hither and yon." 

" I reckon," returned Dick. " Whar's the mare ?'* 

" Bill and Jack's holdin' her at the crossin'." 

" Let 'em hold her a minit longer." 

Dick re-entered the house softly. The door of the 
little room was open. The Old Man had fallen back in 
his chair, snoring. Beside him, on a narrow bedstead. 



Art is at once the knowledge^ the possession^ and the free direction of the ] 
agents^ by virtue of which are revealed the iife,, S02il^ and mind. It is the I 
appropriation of the sign to the thing. It is the relation of the beauties scat- 
tered through nature to a superior type. It is not., therefore^ the mere imita- 
tion of nature. — Delsarte. | 
^ ^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 173 

lay Johnny. Dick hesitated. Everything was quiet. 
He suddenly parted his huge mustache with both 
hands and stooped over the sleeping boy, then fled in 
bashful terror. 

His companions were waiting for him. Two of them 
were struggling with a strange bulk, which took the 
semblance of a great yellow horse. It was the mare. 
She was not a pretty picture. From her Roman nose 
to her rising haunch, from her arched spine hidden by 
a stiff Mexican saddle to her thick, straight, bony legs, 
there was not a line of equine grace. In her half-blind 
but wholly vicious white eyes, in her protruding under- 
lip, in her color, there was nothing but ugliness and 
vice. 

" Now, then," said one, " stand cl'ar of her heels, boys 
and up with you. Don't miss your first holt of her mane 
and mind ye get your off stirrup quick. Ready!" 

There was a leap, a scrambling struggle, a bound, a 
wild retreat of the crowd, a circle of flying hoofs, two 
leaps that jarred the earth, a jingle of spurs, a plunge, 
and then the voice of Dick somewhere in the darkness, 
"All right!" 

"Don't take the lower road back onless you're hard 
pushed for time! Don't hold her in down hill! We*ll 
be at the ford at five. G'lang! Hoopa! Go!" 

A splash, a spark struck from the ledge in the road, 
a clatter, and Dick was gone. 

One o'clock came, and Dick had only gained Rattle- 
snake Hill. In that time Jovita had practiced all her 
vices. Thrice had she stumbled. Twice had she struck 
out madly across country. Twice had she reared and 
fallen backward, and twice had Dick, unharmed, re- 

T The first or iinpressional stage of art is^ educationally speaking^ the culti-\ 
vation of the senses, and the pozvers of observation. In pantomimic art it con- 
sists of the trai7iing of the apparatus of the body to the fittest possible response 

1 to^ and freest passage for the sensations accepted.— YKMiK-Liti H. Sargent. | 

i- — ^ 



174 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

gained his seat. A mile beyond, at the foot of a long 
hill, was Rattlesnake Creek. Dick knew that here 
was the crucial test. Jovita began the descent of the 
hill. As Dick expected, the momentum she had ac- 
quired carried her beyond the point of balking, and, 
holding her well together for a leap, they dashed into 
the middle of the swiftly-flowing current. A few mo- 
ments of kicking, wading, and swimming, and Dick 
drew a long breath on the opposite bank. By two 
o'clock he had begun the descent to the plain. At half- 
past two he rose in his stirrups w^ith a shout. Beyond 
him rose two spires, a flagstaff, and a line of black ob- 
jects. He jingled his spurs, and in another moment 
swept into the village. 

After Jovita had been handed over to a sleepy ostler, 
whom she at once kicked into unpleasant consciousness, 
Dick sallied out. He stopped before several shops, and 
by persistent tapping roused the proprietors and made 
them unbar the doors. It was three o'clock before this 
pleasantry was over, and, with a small water-proof bag 
strapped on his shoulders, Dick dashed down the lonely 
street into the plain. 

The storm had cleared away, but it was half-past four 
before Dick reached the crossing, and half an hour later 
when he came to the long level that led to Rattlesnake 
Creek. Suddenly Jovita shied. Hanging to her rein 
was a figure that had leaped from the bank, and from 
the road arose a shadowy horse and rider. 

** Throw up your hands," commanded this apparition. 

Dick felt the mare tremble, quiver, and apparently 
sink under him. Then she rose in the air with a terrific 



j Bad actors exert themselves in vain to be vtoved and to ifiove spectators. 
On the other hand^ true artists never let their gestures reveal 7nore than a 
tenth part of the secret e77totion that they apparently feel^ and would hide 

\yrom the audience to spare their sensibilities. Thus they succeed in stirring 

I all spectators. — Delsarte. 



^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 175 

bound, throwing the figure from her bit with a single 
shake of her vicious head, and charged on the horse- 
man. An oath, a pistol-shot, and the next moment 
Jovita was a hundred yards away. But the good right 
arm of her rider, shattered by a bullet, dropped help- 
lessly at his side. 

Without slacking his speed Dick shifted the reins to 
his left hand. He had no fear of pursuit, but looking 
up he saw that day was upon him. Absorbed in a sin- 
gle idea, he forgot his wound, and dashed on. But the 
creek he had swam a few hours before had risen, more 
than doubled its volume, and now rolled a swift river. 
For the first time that night his heart sank. But the 
little room and the figures of the sleeping father and son 
rose before him. He cast off his coat, pistol, boots, and 
saddle, bound his precious pack to his shoulders, grasped 
the bare flanks of Jovita with his bared knees, and with 
a shout dashed into the water. A cry rose from the 
opposite bank as the heads of a man and horse strug- 
gled up the bank. 

The Old Man started and woke. Somebody was rap- 
ping at the door. He opened it, but fell back with a 
cry before the dripping, half-naked figure that reeled 
againsc the doorpost. 

"Dick!'* 

*^ Hush! Is he awake yet?** 

"No— but, Dick!" 

*^Keep still." He staggered, caught at the handle of 
the door, and motioned to the Old Man. " Thar's suthin* 
in my pack yer for Johnny. Take it off. I can't." 

The Old Man unstrapped the pack and laid it before 
the exhausted man. 



I Expression in nature is spontaneous; it is the restilt of an unconscious proc- 
j ess in the man as a creature. Expression in art is deliberate^ and there is 
I a conscious cointnand of natural resources in the man as a creative being. — 
Steele Mackaye. 



176 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

^' Open it, quick!" 

It contained only a few poor toys — cheap and bar- 
baric enough, goodness knows, but bright with paint 
and tinsel. One of them was broken, another was 
ruined by water, and on the third there was a spot. 

** It don't look like much, that's a fact," said Dick, 
ruefully. ^^ But it's the best we could do. Take 'em, 
Old Man, and put 'em in his stocking, and tell him — 
tell him, you know — hold me. Old Man — " The Old 
Man caught his sinking figure. ^^ Tell him," said Dick, 
with a weak little laugh, ^^ tell him Sandy Claus has 
come," and fell fainting on the threshold. 



THE SCHOOL-MA'AM'S 
COURTING. 



Florence E. Pyatt. 



T "yHEN MARY ANN DOLLINGER got the skule 
^ ^ daown thar on Injun Bay 
I was glad, fer I like ter see a gal m.akin' her honest 

way. 
I heerd some talk in the village abaout her flyin' high, 
Tew high fer busy farmer folks with chores ter dew ter 

fly. 
But I paid no sorter attention ter all the talk ontell 
She come in her reg'lar boardin' raound ter visit with 

us a spell. 
My Jake an' her had been cronies ever since they could 

walk, 



Accent is the modulation of the soul. — Delsarte. 
^ _ 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 177 

An' it tuk me aback ter hear her kerrectin' him in his 
talk. 

Jake ain't no hand at grammar, though he hain't his beat 

for work; 
But I sez ter myself, '^ Look out, my gal, yer a-foolin' 

with a Turk!" 
Jake bore it wonderful patient, an' said in a mournful 

way, 
He p'sum.ed he was behindhand with the doin's at Injun 

Bay. 
I remember once he was askin' for some o' my Injun 

buns, 
An' she said he should alius say, " them air," stid o' 

'' them is" the ones. 
Wal, Mary Ann kep' at him stiddy mornin' an' evenin' 

long. 
Tell he dassent open his mouth for fear o' talkin' wrong. 

One day I was pickin' currants daown by the old quince 

tree. 
When I heerd Jake's voice a-sayin': *' Be ye willin' ter 

marry me?" 
An' Mary Ann kerrectin', '•' *Air ye willin', yeou sh'd say." 
Our Jake he put his foot daown in a plum, decided way, 
*' No wimmen-folks is a-goin' ter be re-arrangin' m.e. 
Hereafter I says * craps,' ^ them is,' * I calk'late,' an* * I be.' 
Ef folks don't like my talk they needn't hark ter what I 

say; 
But I ain' a-goin' to take no sass from folks from Injun 

Bay. 
I ask you free an' final: Be ye goin' ter marry me?" 
An' Mary Ann sez, tremblin', yet anxious-like, ** I be." 



Gesture is inevitably synthetic^ and consequently harmonic; Jbr harmony 
is but another name for synthesis. — Delaumosne. 



1 78 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

A WIFE'S LAMENT. 



Will H. Cadmus. 



XT O! there ain't no use of talkin', 

Zeb is gettin' most too old 
To be changin' for the better, 

So I seldom fret or scold; 
But it sometimes is provokin', 

An' I very often wish 
That he'd give up his hobby, 

Always hankerin' to fish. 

I've polished on the cookin'-stove 

Till you could see your face, 
An' worked around from morn till night 

To tidy up the place. 
I sometimes sweep, an' dust, an' scrub, 

Until, I will be bound. 
You cannot find a cleaner house 

For many miles around. 

Zeb tracks in with his muddy boots 

Upon the kitchen floor, 
Until I feel it ain't no use 

A-cleanin' any more. 
He'll bring along a string of fish, 

An' there won't be no peace 
Until I've fried 'em, an' the stove 

Gets spattered up with grease. 

On Saturday, he'll set at night, 
Along some muddy brook. 



We should not pre-occupy the audience with our own personality . There is 
no true., simple, or expressive work without self-abnegation. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 179 

An' wait until some worthless fish 

May come an' find his hook. 
Then, like enough, on Sunday morn 

He'll say, '^ Why, there's the bell! 
I won't go with you, Betsy Ann, 

I ain't a-feelin' well." 

If he gets called away from home, 

He'll take a piece of twine, 
With bait an' hooks to well improve 

The odds an' ends of time. 
At night, I've scolded 'till I knew 

'Twas useless any more. 
For all the answer I would get 

Would likely be a snore. 

I've sometimes wanted somethin' done, 

Perhaps to mend a chair. 
Or dig around my flower-beds. 

He'd claim ^' no time to spare." 
But then I've noticed many times, 

The task is not too great 
To dig a patch that's twice as big 

If huntin' after bait. 

Last spring he said he'd go to York 

To see the grand display; 
He thought that he could spare the time, 

He'd only go one day. 
I didn't see just how he could. 

The crops were needin' care. 
But then I didn't find no fauU, 

The neighbors would be there. 



The teacher^s work is complete when the pupil has been trained to the per- 
\ feci control of the instrtiments through which thejotil can be expressed. — 
Genevieve Stebbins. 



i8o DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

I claimed the military show 

Was better than the rest. 
He said that he was satisfied 

The naval would be best. 
But afterward I found he sat 

From nine till six o'clock, 
A drop-line down between his knees, 

A-fishin' from the dock! 

He lately bought a fishin'-pofe, 

A fancy kind of thing, 
A little wheel upon the stick 

For windin' up the string. 
Sez I to him, ^^ It seems to me 

You'll never have no sense; 
You know that we cannot afford 

To have no such expense." 

Sez I, '' You know your overcoat 

Is very far from new; 
We need new chairs and carpet, 

An' the church pew rent is due." 
He said I'd claimed the meat he bought, 

I'd very often found, 
Was poor stuff, sold for tenderloins. 

At twenty cents a pound. 

**An' now," sez he, ^^our butcher bills 

Will probably be small; 
There's fish enough," with his new rod 

He'd maybe catch 'em all ! 
You should have seen the basketful 

That he brought home at night — 



>!*- 



-T 



Beauty is based on three conditions: clearjtess^ integrity^ and due proJ>or 
tion. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. i8i 

The flounders, bass, an' bluefish, too — 
My goodness! What a sight! 

He said he'd had a jolly time, 

An' didn't fail to say, 
The bites he'd had was wonderful, 

The best ones got away! 
But, later, Van Dutchoven's wife. 

Claimed Jake Goosrobber knew, 
Zeb hadn't caught them fish at all, 

He'd bought 'em of Jim Drew! 



JACK HALL'S BOAT-RACE. 



Robert Grant. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



TT was an established custom on the annual exhibition 
day at Utopia School for the best single scullers to 
demonstrate by a two-mile contest which could pull the 
fastest. 

Tom Bonsall was the acknowledged crack single 
sculler in the school, and as he was to graduate this 
year, it was Jack Hall's last chance to prove himself the 
superior. Great preparations were made for the con- 
test. But the excitement was nothing compared with 
what it became when Dr. Meredith, the principal, an- 
nounced his intention of competing for the silver cup 
himself. The report ran like wildfire through the school. 
" Have you heard the news?" everyone asked his neigh- 
bor. " The doctor is going in for the single sculls 
against Bonsall and Hall. He hasn't rowed in a race 

A 



The law of evolution in expression is: first the eye, then the face, then the 
head^ then the arms and hands^ and last the body. — Steele Mackaye. 



1 82 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

for ever so long." As to what the result of the race 
would be, few saw room to doubt. Neither of them could 
hope to beat the doctor. 

The appointed day dawned bright and still. The 
race had been fixed for ten o'clock. The lake was re- 
ported to be like a mirror, and the day unexceptionable 
from an oarsman's point of view. At nine o'clock Jack 
emerged in his boating-costume. Every boy who pos- 
sessed a boat was out in it, and the water was dotted 
with every variety of craft, from a canoe to a steam- 
launch. The stand, which had been erected just oppo- 
site to the finish, was crowded. As for Jack, he was 
trembling all over, and could feel his heart going like a 
trip-hammer. The course was two miles in all; straight 
away for a mile to a flagged buoy, and back again to 
another flagged buoy abreast of the boat-house. 

Jack was the last of the three to get into his boat. 
He paddled a few rods and then shot off at a comfort- 
able pace up the lake, followed by the gaze of the spec- 
tators eager to gauge his powers. He caught a glimpse 
of Tom Bonsall resting on his oars and watching him. 
Jack pulled steadily for a few hundred yards, taking a 
last glance at his equipment to make sure everything 
was all right. He had scarcely turned to come back 
when the pistol sounded, and by the time he reached 
the starting-line the doctor and Tom were in position. 
According to the lots drawn that morning, Jack was to 
be in the middle, with Tom inside; so he paddled in be- 
tween them. 

He felt almost beside himself in the short interval 
that preceded the discharge, and his throat seemed 
parched. 



Beauty is to the Beautiful what the individual reason is to the divine rea- j 
son of things^ It is one ray of the beautiful. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 183 

Crack! 

The three pairs of blades flashed through the water 
at the same moment, and neither boat seemed to gain 
any decided advantage as they bounded away from the 
buoy amid the cheers of everybody. 

^' Hurrah for the doctor!" 

"Hit her up, Tom!" \ 

'^^ Bully for you. Jack!" 

It took our hero some minutes to get his head clear 
enough to be able to perceive what he w^as doing, as 
compared with his opponents. He was conscious of 
rowing a rather quicker and more jerky stroke than 
usual. His eyes were misty and his throat drier than 
ever. The cheers of the spectators were growing 
fainter, and he felt that it was time to settle down to 
work. He made a gulp and looked about him. On 
his right was Tom pulling like grim death, at a rate 
which seemed to lift his boat almost out of the w^ater. 
The stern of Tom's shell was nearly on a level with the 
back sweep of his own oars, which showed plainly that 
Tom had not far from half a length's lead on him. On 
the other side was the doctor, rowing steadily and 
smoothly as clock-work, neck and neck with him. 

" Softly now," said Jack to himself. "This is too fast 
Company for me. If Tom can keep this racket up he'll 
get there first. My only chance is to let up a bit." Ac- 
cordingly he lessened the number of strokes to the 
minute by making each of them longer and more sweep- 
ing, with the immediate result that he felt in better 
shape, and that Tom had gained no further advantage 
on him. But there was no let up to Tom. He had the 
lead and was bent on keeping it. Not a sound was 

t : 

We never really U7iderstand an author'' s jueamng. Every one is free to in- 
terpret him according to his individual instinct. But we must know how to 
\ justify the interpretation by gesture. — Delaumosne. 
^ . 



1 84 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

audible to Jack but the slight plashing of the oars in 
the water. Over his shoulder he saw Tom struggling on- 
ward; and abreast of him, pulling with apparently no 
effort and watching alertly the movements of his rivals, 
could be seen the dangerous doctor. But Jack felt calm 
now, and fresher than when he started. The doctor 
was pulling a waiting race; he was an old hand, and had 
seen many a race lost by too lively a pace at the start. 

" Steady," reflects Jack, ^' don't hit her up too lively." 
He appreciates the doctor's tactics, and is not going to 
fall into the trap if he can help it, even though Tom, 
spurred on by swift pursuit, has put on more steam and 
is holding his own bravely. They are not far from the 
flagged buoy now, and are likely to pass it in the order 
in which they are at present, about half a length apart, 
and Tom has the inside water. 

Tom turns first, and very cleverly, too, close to the 
buoy so as to give no one a chance to cut in, and starts 
for home; but the others are at his heels and right after 
him. Half way, and Jack is still as fresh as ever. He 
remembers a parting caution not to spurt until he has 
to, and only bends strongly and firmly to his accus- 
tomed stroke. Ah, there! The doctor is waking up at 
last, and is putting in some stronger work. One thing 
is certain now; Tom will have to row faster or give in. 
Jack slightly quickens his stroke, and, without actually 
spurting, bends every muscle. Will Tom be able to 
quicken his pace? He does quicken it, so much so that 
he is rowing desperately fast with short, lightning 
strokes, which come so rapidly that it is difficult to note 
the interval between them. Brilliant, magnificent! But 



Things that are said quietly should sing themselves in the utterance. — Del. 

SARTE. 




'Nobody asked you, sir," she said. 




MEPHISTOPHELES. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 185 

Jack's long, steady swing is holding, and pressing into 
the bargain. 

" Steady now,'* murmurs Jack between his teeth. He 
knows from Tom's exertions that his rival is spurting. 
A terrible moment of sustained effort follows, at the end 
of which Tom lashes the air with a misplaced stroke, 
the water splashes, and Jack's shell comes on a level 
with its forerunner, battles with it for twenty yards of 
struggling agony on the part of the doomed champion, 
and leaps to the front just in time to meet the sweet 
miisic of the prolonged, triumphant din of shouts and 
cheers sent down by hundreds of voices. Jack is ahead, 
and only a quarter of a mile left! Tom is beaten. And 
now for the doctor. Where is he ? The nose of his boat 
is almost on a line with Jack's stern, and he is quicken- 
ing at every stroke. 

What a babel of cheers and exclamations bursts forth 
from the crowd along the bank and on the benches of 
the densely-packed stand! 

^* Jack Hall is ahead! Hall! Hall! No, he isn't! Hit 
her up, doctor! Hurrah for Hall! Hurrah for the 
doctor! Tom, where are you? Bonsall! Bonsall! 
H-A-L-L! Hall-1-1!" 

The tumult is maddening. Can it be possible that 
Jack Hall, who before the race was rated lowest of the 
three, is going to break the school record and beat the 
doctor in one and the same breath? It looks like it, if 
he can hold his own for two hundred yards more. But 
see, the doctor is spurting with a vengeance — look! — 
look! — and is he not gaining, too? 

*^ Doctor Meredith is ahead! No he's not — Hall's 



IThe philosophy of expression is the philosophy of manifestation. In its 
broadest sense^ it is the philosophy of the infinite as revealed in the universe. 
In its restricted sense., it is the philosophy of man as revealed through the or- 
ganism; the inner essence or soul manifesting itself through the outer sub~ 
stance or body. — Moses True Brown. 



1 86 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

ahead! Huzza! hurrah! Hall, Hall, hit her up, Hall! 
Look out, Hall! The doctor wins! No he doesn't! 
Hall wins! Hurrah! Jack, where are you?'* 

The doctor has crept up; the nose of his shell is now 
well beyond Jack's out-rigger, and he is speeding like, 
the wind. Jack is feeling terribly tired; his throat that 
he thought parched at the start burns as if it were on 
fire, and his eyes seem ready to start out of his head. 
Jack turns his head and sights the goal. Not more 
than 150 yards left! The yells and cheers are setting 
his blood ablaze. He can scarcely see, but he knows he 
has not spurted yet. He is neck and neck with the 
doctor now. There can be nothing to choose between 
them. "The doctor wins!" "Not a bit of it; Hall 
wins! Good on your head. Jack! Keep it up, doctor! 
Go in. Hall!" 

The time has come now, Jack knows, to put in any 
spurt that is left in him. Gripping the handles of his 
oars like a vise, and shutting his eyes. Jack throws all 
his powers into one grand effort. 

"Hall! Hall! Hurrah! Nobly done. Hall! Hall 
wins! Row, doctor, row!" 

The doctor is rowing with all his might, but he has 
not counted on the staying powers of his adversary. If 
Jack can hold out for half a dozen strokes more, the 
victory is his. 

One. 

"Hall! Hall! Go in, doctor!" 

Two. 

"Three cheers for Hall! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!'* 

Three. 

"Hurrah! H-A-L-L!" 



A movement should never be mixed with a facial twist. — Delsarte. 
_ _ ___ ^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 187 

Four. 

"Hall wins! Hall wins!*' 

Five. 

*^ Hurrah! Huzza! Hurrah! Hall! Hall! Doctor! 
Doctor!" 

Six. 

Panting, breathless, and bewildered by the deafening 
cheers, Jack sees the flagged buoy shoot past his oar- 
blade and knows that he has won the race and is cham- 
pion of Utopia. 



THE MARRIAGE OF THE 
FLOWERS. 



S. H. M. Byers. 



T^HERE'S a wedding in the orchard, dear, I know it 
. by the flowers; . 

They're wreathed on every bough and branch, or falling 

down in showers. 
The air is in a mist, I think, and scarce knows what to 

- be— 
Whether all fragrance, clinging close, or bird-song, wild 
and free. 

"It is six," the swallows twittered, "and you're very 

late in rising- — 
If you really think of rising on this lovely morn at all — 
For the great red sun is peeping over wood and hill and 

meadow. 
And the unmilked cows are lowing in the dimly-lighted 

stall." 



iArticfilation is the arrest or vibration of tone ^ produced by the Pronuncia- 
tion 0/ consonants.— GKn-EVi^WE Stebbins. 



1 88 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

'' Oh, ye robins and ye swallows," thought I, throwing 

back the lattice, 
*' Ye are noisy, joyous fellows, and you waken when you 

will;" 
Then 1 saw a dainty letter, bound in ribbon-grass and 

clover. 
That the swallows had left swinging by the narrow 

window-sill. 

Oh, the dainty, dainty letter, on an orange leaf, or 

lemon, 
Signed, "Your friend, the Queen of Roses," writ in 

characters of dew: 
"You're invited to the garden, there's a good time there 

at seven. 
And a place beside the apple-tree has been reserved for 

you. 

" There'll be matings there, and marriages, of every 

flower and blossom; 
Cross the brook behind the arbor, and come early, if you 

can." 
Oh, my thoughts they all went bounding, and my heart 

leaped in my bosom, 
" And how sweetly she composes," I reflected as I ran. 

There she sat, the queen of roses, with her virgins all 

about her. 
While the lilacs and the apple-blooms seemed waiting 

her command. 
Oh, how lovely, oh, how graciously she smiled on each 

new-comer; 
4. 



1/ you cannot conquer your defect^ make it beloved, — Delsarte, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 189 

Oh, how sweetly kissed the lilies as she took them by 
the hand. 

All at once the grass-rows parted, and the sweetest 
notes were sounded. 

There was music, there was odor, there was loving in 
the air; 

And a hundred joyous gallants, robed in holiday ap- 
parel. 

Danced beneath the lilac bushes with a hundred maid- 
ens fair. 

There were tulips, proud and yellow, with their great 

green spears beside them; 
There were lilies grandly bowing to the rose queen as 

they came; 
There v/ere daffodils so stately^ scenting all the air of 

heaven; 
Joyous buds and sleeping poppies, with their banners 

all aflame. 

There were pansies robed in purple, marching o'er the 

apple-blossoms. 
And the foxgloves with their pages tripped coquettish- 

ly along; 
And the violets and the daisies, in their bonnets blue 

and yellow. 
Joined the marching and parading of th' innumerable 

throng. 

All at once the dandelion blew three notes upon his 

trumpet: 
"Choose ye partners for the dancing, gallant knights 

and ladies fair;" 



The rhythvi of gesture is proportional to the mass to be moved. The more an 
organ is restrained^ the more vehement is its impulse. — Delaumosne. 



190 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And the honeysuckle court'sied to the young, sweet- 
breathed clematis, 

And remarked upon the sweetness of the blossoms in 
her hair. 

'•'' We're the tallest," said the tuberose to the iris, stand- 
ing nearest, 

^^ And suppose that now, for instance, I should offer you 
my heart?" 

^^ Oh, how sudden," cried the sly thing; ^^ I am really 
quite embarrassed — 

Unexpected, but pray do it, just to give the rest a 
start/' 

Then a daisy kissed a pansy, with its jacket brown and 

yellow, 
And the crocus led a thistle to a seat beside the rose; 
And the maybells grouped together, close beside the 

lady-slipper. 
And commented on the beauty and the splendor of her 

clothes. 

" Oh, a market this for beauty," said a jasmine, gently 

clinging 
To the strong arm of an orange, as a glance on him she 

threw; 
^* Why, you scarcely would believe it, but I've had this 

very morning 
Twenty offers, and declined them just to promenade 

with you." 

Then again the grass it parted, and the sunshine it grew 
brighter, 

t ■ — ^ 

Let your attitude^ gesture^ and face foretell what you would make felt,- 
Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 191 

Till it seemed as if the curtains of high heaven were 

withdrawn, 
And each flower and bud and blossom pressed some 

fair one to its bosom, 
As the bannered train danced gaily 'twixt the windrows 

on the lawn. 

Oh, the musk-rose was so stately! and so stately was 

the queen rosel 
And how sweetly smiled she on me as she whispered in 

my ear: 
"Come again; you know you're welcome, come again, 

dear, for it may be 
That our baby buds and blossoms will be christened 

here next year." 



THE OLD CHURCH. 



H. H. Johnson. 



\irHAT! tear the old church down, you say, and 
^ ^ build a modern one, 

That we can look with pride upon and boast of when 
'tis done ? 

With lots of little rooms below for festivals and fairs. 

And one big room for preachin', with its pews and easy- 
chairs? 

What's wrong about the dear old church we've wor- 
shipped in so long? 

The walls are good, the clapboards tight, the timbers 
sound and strong; 



Expression in nature flows from the ivipulses of statural passion. Expres- 
sion in art implies a mastery of the primary imptilses of natural passion by 
that rational and moral substance in the individual ivhich disti7iguishes the 
m.anfrom the beast as a supernatural entity. — Steele Mackaye. 
^ -. , ^ 



192 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

I'll own the roof is leakin' some, but that can be made 

right, 
A shingle stuck in here and there will make the old 

roof tight. 

You want to build a stylish church. I think I know your 

views; 
And then when you have got it built, you'll rent or sell 

the pews. 
And poor folks that haint got the cash to pay for sit- 

tin' room. 
Must take their preachin' standin' up, or else remain at 

home. 

I tell you, brethren, that old church seems like a life- 
long friend; 

Sweet memories are clusterin' there will last till life 
shall end. 

Each timber, joist, and board and nail seems speakin' 
with a tongue. 

And tellin' of the good done here since you and I were 
young. 

Beside that dear old altar there, just fifty years to-day, 
I knelt and begged for pardon, and Christ washed my 

sins away; 
And though old Time has thinned my hair, and bleached 

it white as snow. 
That altar is as dear to me as fifty years ago. 

The sermons that we've listened to from holy men of 
God, 



One cannot be too careful of his articulation. The initial consonant should 
be articulated distinctly: the spirit of the word is contained in it. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 19:^ 

Whose bodies now are lyin' cold beneath the church- 
yard sod, 
Seem ringin' in my ears to-day, and full of gospel truth, 
As when I listened to them in the merry days of youth. 

I seem to hear the preacher's voice say, '^ Brethren, let 

us pray," 
And all the congregation kneel in the old-fashioned 

way. 
I seem to hear the thrillin' shouts of ^' Glory' and 

*^ A77ien^'' 
Respondin' from the people's hearts and echoin' again. 

I seem to hear those old-time hymns we all so loved to 
sing, 

That used to swell from ev'ry heart, and make the old 
church ring. 

There's one now ringin' in my ears: " Let angels pros- 
trate fall 

Bring forth the royal diadem and crown Him Lord of 
all!" 

'Twould seem too much like sacrilege to tear that altar 

down; 
I'm 'fraid God wouldn't bless the deed, but rather on it 

frown. 
No, brethren, not a dollar will you get from my old 

hand! 
Pd rather give five hundred more and let the old church 

stand! 

So, I beg you, let the old church stand; and when this 
old, gray head 



The teacher is advised to train the voice at the same time with the body\ 
traifiing both as an instrument. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



194 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Shall lie beneath the flowers in the city of the dead, 
Then you can tear the old church down and build one 

new and grand; 
But while I live, oh, heed my prayer, and let the old 

church stand. 



CANDOR. 



H. C. BUNNER. 



"T KNOW what you're going to say," she said, 
And she stood up, looking uncommonly tall ; 
*^ You are going to speak of the hectic fall, 
And say you're sorry the summer's dead. 

And no other summ.er was like it, you know, 
And can I imagine what made it so ? 
Now, aren't you, honestly ?" " Yes," I said. 

*^ I know what you're going to say," she said ; 

*^You are going to ask if I forget 

That day in June when the woods were wet. 
And you carried me " — here she dropped her head — 

^^Over the creek ; you are going to say. 

Do I remember that horrid day ? 
Now aren't you, honestly ?" *^ Yes," I said. 

*^ I know what you're going to say," she said ; 
^^ You are going to say that since that time 
You have rather tended to run to rhyme. 

And " — her clear glance fell and her cheek grew red- 



Speech is external^ and visible thought is the ambassadress of the intellect.— 
Delsakte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 195 

"And have I noticed your tone was queer? 
Why, everybody has seen it here ! 
Now, aren't you, honestly?" '' Yes, " I said. 

*^ I know what you're going to say," I said; 

"You're going to say you've been much annoyed, 
And I'm short of tact — you will say devoid — 

And I'm clumsy and awkward, and call me Ted, 
And I bear abuse like a dear old lamb. 
And you'll have me, anyway, just as I am. 

Now, aren't you, honestly?'* "Ye-es," she said. 



A BOY'S CONCLUSION. 



OHE wuz a old maid. Aunt Sue wuz; 

She never had any little boys ^ 
Er girls, like mos' of women does. 

I guess she didn't like the noise 
And bother 'at a baby brings. 

And so God didn't send her none, 
But let 'em stay and wear their wings. 

I bet they have a sight of fun! 
I've got a baby brother there, 

And he's got wings, and, if I'm good, 
I'm goin' to die and have a pair 

Some time, 'cause mamma said I should. 

When Aunt Sue wuz a girl, ma said. 

She had a beau, like Sister Bess. 
He went to the war and come back dead. 

And that's all 'at saved her^ I guess; 
'Cause, if he hadn't lost his life, 

4 _^ ■ . ______ ^ 

Art proposes three things: to viove^ to interest^ to Persuade by unity of in- 
Jlection and gesture. One effect vitist not destroy another. Diverge7ice con- 
fuses the audience., and leaves no time for sentiment. — Delaumosne. 



^ 



196 DELS ARTE RECUSATION BOOK. 

He would 'a' come back after her; 
And she'd 'a' had to be his wife 

And go with him jist everywhere ! 
I'd think she'd 'a' been awful glad 

Because he didn't come, but died; 
But stid of that it made her sad, 

And mamma said she went and cried. 

And, mamma said, a long, long while 

After her beau wuz dead. Aunt Sue 
Jist moped around and wouldn't smile. 

Until they thought that she'd die, too. 
But stid of dyin' she kep' on, 

And turned out to be a old maid; 
Jist 'cause the other beau wuz gone, 

She wouldn't have no more, she said. 
I pity Aunt Sue; but I can't 

Help be glad 'at her beau died, 
'Cause I wouldn't have a old maid aunt 

If she'd 'a' been that feller's bride. 

I like Aunt Sue; her ginger cakes 

Are better'n what we have at home, 
They're sweeter 'n them my mamma makes, 

And she mos' always brings me some. 
And she's got lots of books and cats, 

And a little dog, and she don't care 
How much I play with them, and that's 

Why I like so to go down there. 
Old maids are nice. When I'm a man, 

If I don't live a single life. 
But marry some one, it's my plan 

To have a old maid for my wife. 



A part of the whole cannot be thoroughly appreciated by any one ignorant 
of the whole. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 197 

A' ABOOT IT. 



William Lyle. 



"/^ MARY, will you gang wi' me, 

^"^^ An' mak' my hame a heeven ? 
ril licht yer nights, an' bless yer days, 

Wi' love as lang's I'm leeven." 
"Toots, laddie, dinna waste yer win' — 

Its waur than wasted speakin'; 
Ye hae but ane heart at the best, 

An' I'm no' her it's seekin','* 

" Ah, Mary, I had ance a heart, 

But I hae ane nae langer; 
Yer een hae wiled it frae my breest, 

An' aye the spell grows stranger." 
*^ Ah, havers, Tam, ye ken fu* weel, 

Noo, whaur were ye' a roamin' 
Yestreen? Ye followed Maggie Rae 

Adoon the glen at gloamin'." 

" Mary, I thacht it was yersel', 

But ne'er a word was spoken; 
The glen was dark without your smile, 

An' I cam' hame heart-broken." 
" Weel, maybe, Tam, ye were mista'en, 

But I'll tak' leave to doot it; 
It seems ye had to kiss lang Meg 

To find oot a' aboot it !" 



In change of inflection., the voice should leap from one inflection to the 
other., not slide: otherwise the change produces a sing-song.— GRifEViKVK Steb- 

BINS. 

4* , 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

LORD cliv:e. 



Robert Browning. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



T AND CLIVE were friends — and why not? power is 

power, my boy, and still 
Marks a man, — God's gift magnific, exercised for good 

or ill. 
We were friends then, Clive and I; so, when the clouds, 

about the orb 
Late supreme, encroaching slowly, surely, threatened to 

absorb 
Ray by ray its noontide brilliance, — friendship might, 

with steadier eye 5 

Drawing near, bear what had burned else, now no blaze, 

all majesty. 

Too much bee's-wing floats my figure? Well, suppose 

a castle's new: 
None presume to climb its ramparts, none find foothold 

sure for shoe 
'Twixt those squares and squares of granite plating the 

impervious pile 
As his scale-mail's warty iron cuirasses a crocodile. lo 
Such a castle seldom tumbles by sheer stress of can- 

nonade: 
'Tis when foes are foiled and fighting's finished thaf 

vile rains invade, 

Grass o'ergrows, o'ergrows till night-birds, congregat* 
ing, find no holes 

Fit to build in like the topmost sockets made for ban- 
ner-poles. 



Dynamic wealth depends upon the number of bodily articulations brought 
into play: the feiver articulations an actor uses^ the more closely he approaches 
to the puppet, — Dels arte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 199 

So Clive crambled slow at London, crashed at last. A 
week before, 15 

Dining with him, — after trying churchyard-chat of days 
of yore, — 

As I saw his head sink heavy, guessed the soul's extin- 
guishment 

By the glazing eyeball, noticed how the furtive fingers 
went 

Where a drug-box skulked behind the honest liquor, — 

" One more throw 
Try for Clive!" thought I; "let's venture some good 

rattling question!" So — 20 

*' Come, Clive, tell us," — out I blurted, — " what to tell in 

turn, years hence. 
Come! what moment of the minute, what speck-centre 

in the wide 
Circle of the action saw your mortal fairly deified? 
(Let alone that filthy sleep-stuff; swallow bold this 

wholesome port!) 
If a friend has leave to question,— when were you most 

brave, in short?" 25 

Up he arched his^brows o' the instant, formidably Clive 

again. 
" When was I most brave? I'd answer, were the instance 

half as plain 
As another instance that's a brain-lodged crystal — curse 

it! — here 
Freezing when my memory touches — ugh! — the time I 

felt almost fear. 29 

Ugh! I cannot say for certain if I showed fear — anyhow, 



Pantomime is of two distinct species: elliptic pantomime^ which is the mani- 
festation by the outer action of the body of the inward life of the body: and 
descriptive pantomime, which is the illustration by the motion of the body of 
some outer part or action. — Stkklk Mackaye. 



200 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Fear I felt, and, very likely, shuddered, since I shiver 
now." 

Down his brows dropped. On the table painfully he 
pored, as though 

Tracing in the stains and streaks there, thoughts en- 
crusted long ago. 

When he spoke 'twas like a lawyer reading word by 
word some will. 

Some blind jungle of a statement, — beating on and on 
until 35 

Out there leaps fierce life to fight with. 

" This fell in my factor-days. 

Desk-drudge, slaving at St. David's, one must game, or 
drink, or craze. 

I chose gaming; and — because your high-flown game- 
sters hardly take 

Umbrage at a factor's elbow if the factor pays his 
stake — 

I was winked at in a circle where the company was 
choice, 40 

Captain This and Major That, men high of color, loud 
of voice, 

*^ Yet indulgent, condescending to the modest juvenile, 
Who not merely risked but lost his hard-earned guineas 

with a smile. 
Down I sat to cards, one evening, had for my antagonist 
Somebody whose name's a secret — you'll know why — 

so, if you list, 45 

Call him Cock o' the walk, my scarlet son of Mars from 

head to heel! 



Conscious tnenace — that of a master to his subordinate — is expressed by a 
juovement of the head carried from above downward. Impotent menace re- 
quires the head to be moved from below upward.— I^K'LSAWTK. 
4. 




''Wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams." 






<%' 'fe 




''A powder-box, 
ril take a little look within." 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 201 

Play commenced; and whether Cocky fancied that a 
clerk must feel 

** Quite sufficient honor came of bending over one green 

baize, 
I the scribe with him the warrior, guessed no penman 

dared to raise 
Shadow of objection should the honor stay but playing 

end 50 

More or less abruptly, — whether disinclined he grew to 

spend, 
Practice strictly scientific on a booby born to stare 
At — not ask of — lace and ruffles if the hand they hide 

plays fair. 

" Anyhow, I marked a movement when he bade me * Cut!' 
I rose. 

* Such the new manoeuvre, captain? I'm a novice; knowl- 
edge grows. 55 

What, you force a card, you cheat, sir?' Never did a 
thunderclap 

Cause emotion, startle Thyrsis locked with Chloe in his 
lap. 

As my word and gesture (down I flung my cards to join 
the pack) 

Fired the man of arms, whose visage, simply red before, 
turned black. 

^^When he heard his voice, he stammered, ^ That ex- 
pression once again.' 60 

^ Well, you forced a card and cheated!' * Possibly a 
factor's brain, 



The law of expansion of ^notion of action existing in mental expression is 
in proportion to the uncontrolled force of the motion. — Steele Mackaye. 



^ 



202 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Busied with his all-important balance of accounts, may 
deem 

Weighing words, superfluous trouble; cheat to clerkly 
ears may seem 

Just the joke for friends to venture: but we are not 
friends, you see! 

When a gentleman is joked with, — if he's good at re- 
partee — 65 

" * He rejoins as I do — Sirrah, on your knees, withdraw 

in full! 
Beg my pardon, or be sure a kindly bullet through 

your skull 
Lets in light and teaches manners to what brain it finds! 

Choose quick — 
Have your life snuffed out or, kneeling, pray me trim 

yon candlewick! ' 
\ Well, you cheated! ' 70 

Then outbroke a howl from all the friends around. 
To their feet sprang men in fury, fists were clinched and 

teeth were ground. 
*End it! no time like the present! Captain, yours were 

our disgrace! * 

'^ Up we stood accordingly. 

As they handed me the weapon, such was my soul's 
thirst to try 

Then and there conclusions with this bully, tread on 
and stamp out 75 

Every spark of his existence, that — crept close to, curled 
about 

By that toying, tempting, teasing fool-forefinger's mid- 
dle joint, — 



The mouth plays a part in everything evil zuhich we ivould express^ by a\ 
grimace which consists of protruding the lips and lowering the corners. If 
the grimace translates a concentric sentiment^ it should be made by compress- 
ing the lips. — Delsarte. I 
,_ ; — ^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 203 

Don't you guess? — the trigger yielded. Gone my chance! 

and at the point 
Of such prime success, moreover; scarce an inch above 

his head 
Went my ball to hit the wainscot. He was living, I 

was dead. 80 

" Up he marched in flaming triumph — 'twas his right, 
mind! — up, within 

Just an arm's length. ^ Now, my clerkling,' chuckled 
Cocky with a grin 

As the levelled piece quite touched me, ' now. Sir Count- 
ing-house, repeat 

That expression which I told you proved bad manners! 
Did I cheat?' 

* Cheat you did, you knew you cheated, and, this mo- 
ment, know as well. 85 

As for me, my homely breeding bids you — fire and go 
to hell!' 

" Twice the muzzle touched my forehead. Heavy barrel, 

flurried wrist. 
Either spoils a steady lifting. Thrice: then, ^ Laugh at 

hell who list, 
I can't! God's no fable, either. Did this boy's eye wink 

once? No! 
There's no standing him and hell and God all three 

against me, — so, 90 

I did cheat! ' 

And down he threw the pistol, out rushed — 

by the door 
Possibly, but, as for knowledge if by chimney, roof, or 

floor, 
. ^ 

Habit ts a. second nature: in fact^ a habitual movement fashions the mate- 
rial and physical being in such a manner as to create a type not inborn^ and 
which is named habitual. — Delaumosne. 

^ — — — — ' — — * 



204 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

He effected disappearance — I'll engage no glance was 

sent 
That way by a single starer, such a blank astonishment 
Swallowed up the senses; as for speaking — mute they 

stood as mice 95 

*^ Mute not long, though ! Such reaction, such a hubbub 

in a trice! 
* Rogue and rascal! Who'd have thought it? What's 

to be expected next? 
Drum and fife must play the Rogue's March, rank and 

file be free to speed, 
Tardy marching on the rogue's part by appliance in 

the rear — 
Kicks administered shall right this wronged civilian, — 

never fear.* 100 

" 'Gentlemen, attention — pray! First, one word! 
Some five minutes since my life lay — as you all saw, 

gentlemen, 
At the mercy of your friend there. Not a single voice 

was raised 
In arrest of judgment, not one tongue — before my pow- 
der blazed — 
Ventured, " Can it be the youngster blundered, really 

seemed to mark 105 

Some irregular proceeding? Look into the case, at 

least!" 
Who dared interpose between the altar's victim and the 

priest? 
Yet he spareii me! You eleven! Whosoever, all or each, 
Utters — to the disadvantage of the man who spared me — 

speech — 



Science receives^ art gives. By science man assimilates the world: by art he 
assimilates hiinselfto the world. Assimilation is to science what incarnation 
is to art.— Dels ARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 205 

To his face, behind his back, — that speaker has to do 
with me; no 

Me who promise, if positions change and mine the 
chance should be. 

Not to imitate your friend and waive advantage! ' 

" Well, you've my story, there's your instance: fear I 

did, you see!" 
*^ Fear — I wish I could detect there; courage fronts me, 

plain enough. 
Call it desperation, madness, never mind! for here's in 

rough — 115 

Why, had mine been such a trial, fear had overcome 

disgrace. 
True, disgrace were hard to bear; but no such rush 

against God's face! '* 



ANALYSIS. 

F. TOWNSEND SOUTHWICK. 

No poet needs more the artist to stand as interpreter 
between him and the average individual than does 
Brov/ning. The closet reading of Browning is some- 
what difficult; his sentences are not always w^ell framed 
for the eye, the words do not adjust themselves natu- 
rally to the focus of the ordinary understanding, the 
thread of his thought gets tangled in the meshes of his 
imagination, until we almost lose it altogether. 

This is owing to two quite opposite qualities in his 
work that it seems paradoxical to name together: dif- 
fuseness and compression. He crowds his pages with a 
wealth of vivifying, reinforcing ideas branching from 
and adorning the main subject, side lights, so to speak, 
thrown upon the central motif. He must flash every 



The head and hand cannot act shmiUaneotisly to express the same senti- 
ment. One could not say '"''no'''' with head and hands at the same time. The 
head commands and precedes the 7noveme7it of the hand. — Delaumosne. 



2o6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

facet of his jewelled thought toward us until we have 
noted each scintillation of the brilliancy within. At the 
same time, he compresses the expression of each of these 
ideas until his lines are fairly packed with ellipses, so 
that the superficial reader is fatigued, at first, by the 
effort necessary to dig out the meaning of a sentence, 
and, afterward, by the stress of sustained thought re- 
quired to follow the poet through group after group of 
such compact expressions to the final elucidation of his 
meaning — the net result of it all. Much of Browning's 
obscurity arises, like the imperfect expression of some 
bright stutterer, not from incapacity, but from the too 
rapid crowding of thoughts upon expression. 

The artist who would interpret this master — and none 
but an artist is equal to his more difficult moods — has 
resources invocaland pantomimic expression that stand 
him in good stead in his task. To such, the few hints I 
am able to give will doubtless be superfluous. To many 
students, however, who are aiming at something higher 
than the ephemeral trash of the day, they may be of 
service as pointing out a method of getting at the mean- 
ing and interpretation of one of the greatest masters of 
dramatic delineation. 

Robert, Lord Clive, born 1725, conqueror of India. 
His most celebrated victory was at Plassey, where, with 
3,000 men, he completely routed 60,000 Bengalese. He 
rose from a subordinate position in the British East 
India Company. His character was by no means spot- 
less, yet his genuine greatness raised him high in the 
estimation of his contemporaries. His later years were 
passed in England in ill health and broken spirits. 
Finally, in 1774, he ended his own life. The incident 
here related has, we are told, the authority of Macaulay. 

The speaker is telling the story to his son over their 
after-dinner port. The manner is colloquial, gestures 
of the hand and forearm predominating. 

2. [It is] God's gift magnific [whether] exercised^ etc. 

3-6. Painter's or revealing hand; suggest by describ- 
ing an arc of a circle not too large. Action here at the 
^ —A 



Science and art form two means of assimilation: the one by means of ab 
sorption^ the other by means of einanation. The one gives and communicates, 
the other unceasingly receives and appeals. — Delsarte. 

. 4 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 207 

right side throughout. At encroaching^ develop the arm 
with slight acquiring action of the hand. Friendship, 
supportive hand, palm from earth. No blaze, slight re- 
jection, with tremolo of revealing hand. All majesty, 
painter's assertion. This is a continuous chain of 
actions; sustain the arm throughout and do not be in a 
hurry to drop it at the conclusion. Best to sustain it 
until, as if recalled to yourself by your auditor's smile, 
you — 

7-10. Drop arm with off-hand movement of rejection 
at about the waist-line, as much as to say, "Well, let it 
go." Bee*s wing, the film on old port. Paraphrased, the 
sentence reads: "The wine I have drunk makes me use 
too gorgeous a comparison," perhaps with a deprecatory 
smile. Well [I will try again]. Action this time at left 
side. Intellectual hand, "with arm to earth;" indicate 
various components of the picture. 

11. Such a castle, palm revealing; sheer stress, repul- 
sion. 

12. Rejection with strong hand. Fighti^tg's finished, 
surrender hand. Vile rains, boring action of hand, fore- 
finger prominent. 

13. Overgrows, acquiring hand; ////, etc., indication. 
15. Indicate at side, palm up, supportive; crunibled 

slow, turn and sink wrist; crashed, drop arm, seriously, 
with regret in the voice, but be careful not to make it 
minor. From line 7, Well, to line 15 the action is again 
continuous. 

18. Furtive fingers, delicate action of fingers; attitude, 
concealment. 

19. Honest liquor, hand in attitude of presentation. 
Do not attempt to suggest the hanging head. Oiie 7nore 
throw, the figure is, of course, of a dice-box. It is per- 
haps better not to suggest it in action, unless very deli- 
cately, since doing so would divert the attention from the 
thought to its symbol. The thought is: "One more 
attempt to w4n back Clive to his former self." 

21. If any action, appeal; but very off-hand. 

22. Co7?ie, appeal as before, but stronger. Speck-ce?itre, 



Bearings of the body are pantomimic adjectives^ qualifying the individual j 
kind of character which is in action. — Steele Mackaye. 



2o8 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

pressure of thumb and little finger. Wide^ arm action, 
hand expanded. 

23. Your 7?iortaly supportive indication to Clive; deified, 
to heaven. 

24. Impatient rejection; swallow bold, presentation. 

25. Drop arm. If a friend has leave to question, sus- 
pensive pause here, such a pause as we sometimes fill up 
with the monosyllable *^ er." Perhaps the speaker feels 
a little hesitation at asking the direct question; but, 
after beating about for some time, finally does blurt 
out, when were you most brave, in short, rapidly and ener- 
getically. 

28. Brai?i-lodged, tap forehead. Curse it, contract hand 
simply. 

29. When my memory touches [it]. Ugh, a shiver not a 
word, slightly drawing in elbows and raising shoulders. 

30. Declaration. 

31. I felt, affirmation; connect these actigns; do not 
overdo them; remember it is conversation. 

32-35. '^Browning has caught the two most striking 
symptoms of the victim of the opium habit: the fixed 
though dazed regard of some indifferent object, and 
the lifeless, monotonous voice." — Rolfe. Head slightly 
bowed, but with eye to audience — a necessary artistic 
variation from the description. Eyes half closed sleep- 
ily. Very indifferent manner and voice; general atti- 
tude repose, but very relaxed; chest somewhat passive. 
Gradually grow more animated as the story develops. 

41-43. Careless gesture of distribution with left hand, 
to save the right for stronger action by and by. Hold 
attitude to coiidescending, when the hand takes attitude 
of protection; hold this to lost, when it changes to dis- 
tribution with surrender, or simply to surrender. Juve- 
nile, long ^* i." 

50-51. Should the honor [of bending, etc.], stay but play- 
ing [that is, fair playing], end more or less abruptly. A 
good effect can be made here by a suspensive pause 
after end, and giving the following clause with indiffer- 
ent concession. The whole sentence and that following 



Yellotv is the color of the soul. It is the color ofjlame. Flavte contains the 
warmth of life and the light of the inind. As the soul contains and unites 
the life and the mindy so the fame warms and shines. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 209 

will bear a considerable amount of circumflex inflec- 
tion. 

52-53. On a booby borji to stare at lace-aiid-ruffles^ not ask 
<?/[them], if the Jiarid^ etc. Somewhat difficult to read 
well. Lace-and-rnffles is elliptical in the first instance, 
and there the emphasis of the idea naturally belongs. 
When the expression does occur, having been thought 
already in the speaker's mind, the emiphasis is partly 
lost, as if he said *^ not ask of them." Lace-and-ruffles is 
subordinate to the whole idea it interrupts. Stare at is 
antithetical not merely to ask of, but to the whole 
clause. [Ask] if the hand they hide plays fair, the em- 
phasis, therefore, culminating on fair. Read a few 
times as paraphrased above, then substitute the original, 
keeping emphasis and inflection the same, and you will 
arrive at the best way of reading the sentence that oc- 
curs to me. 

54-55. Gradually become more animated. Knowledge 
(jrowSy ^' I am learning something," ironical, of course. 

56. Indignant contempt with an element of surprise. 

56-59. Never did a thunder-clap [so] cause emotion [in 
Thyrsis so] startle [him with his arms] locked [about] 
Chloe in his lap, as my word and gesture [i.e., flinging down 
the cards] fired,\\.^., caused emotion, though of a differ- 
ent kind in] the man of arms. 

60. An ingenious variation of the threadbare expres- 
sion, ^* found his voice." That expression, etc., surprise, 
almost bewilderment, predominating over anger. Strong 
attitude, fists clinched; or, better, fingers working spas- 
modically as if to clutch Clive's throat ; arms drawn 
back. 

61. Calmly and coldly, with great distinctness and 
deliberation; head inclined from and lifted; upper lids 
dropped; contemptuous curl of lips; pois'e normal, no 
movement nor contraction anywhere. 

61-67. Possibly, etc., restrained fury, very sarcastic. 
He despises his antagonist, and evidently does not dream 
of final resistance. Let the passage grow in intensity 
to the very end. 



Recitation is not actings and we must content ourselves with suggesting^ 
I rather than attempting^ complete dramatization. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



210 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

66-69. On your knees, indicate with tyrant's hand, i.e., 
"to arm to earth;'* rage unrestrained to the end; weight 
on advanced foot. 

70. As before, or with possibly a touch of defiance in 
voice and action. 

70-72. The action is sufficiently suggested by the text. 
Do not overdo this passage; remember that these are 
gentlemen, not rowdies. 

74-76. Strong emotional emphasis; hurry these lines 
a little; offensive action of fist, conversational action of 
arm. 

76-78. Crept close to, etc. Here the imitative action of 
the finger must help to carry the main idea over the 
long parenthesis, a parenthesis, too, that is not without 
reason; for Clive, formidably Clive again, is living over 
this scene once more, and now as then vents his vexa- 
tion at his failure on his finger. Forefinger, disgust. 

78. Gone my chance! Drop arm with abandon as of 
letting the pistol fall, or throwing it impatiently aside. 

79. Scarce an inch, indicate. Through this have the 
tone of vexation. 

81. * Twas his right. Suppression, palm up, as if in 
reply to the thought of the auditor that it was unfair. 
82-84. Action as described. 

85. Perfectly steady gaze. Be careful not to fling 
back the head or have any action of the arms. Attitude 
of feet, defiance, but not too strong. 

86. JF'ire — and go to hell! Separate the phrases as in- 
dicated. Make the latter a menace. If given flippantly 
it would not have affected his antagonist as it does. 

87-90. Twice — thrice. No action here, but be as im- 
pressive as possible. Laugh, etc.; attitude here of hold- 
ing the pistol pointing upward or with arm dropped. 
Speak as if the words were forced from you against 
your will. Shrink within yourself as you proceed. 

At 90, writhing action of the body, arms raised, fists 
clinched and strong elbow as if to ward off him and hell 
and God, Gradually drop the head lower in shame and 
raise the arms higher. Hesitate before and after so [I 



Blue is the color of the mind. It is the color of the sky, the home of pure 
intellects^ set free from the body^ who see and know all things, — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 21 1 

own that]; then, with a supreme effort, drop both arms 
with relaxed hands, lifting the head in opposition, and 
turning on the ankle until the back is almost toward 
the audience as you finish the words I did cheat. Make 
this climax on did. At the last word drop the head 
again, letting the hands contract, as they will naturally 
tend to do. Hold the attitude a few seconds. 

91. Turn to audience; imitative action 2Xdown he threw. 

92. But as for [actual] knozvledge if [whether]. 

93. No one could vouch that he went through the 
door because no one looked that way, is the gist of the 
passage. 

91-95. Out rushed., indicate. Hold attitude with palm 
from earth until such a blank astonishment., when both 
hands express surprise; hold this to mute^ when the 
arms drop. 

96-99. Negation of head with slight smile. Such reac- 
tion., etc., broad declaration, both arms; hands ^^ from 
arm to earth.*' Rogue and rascal^ etc., arms and hands 
indicating surprise. Drum and fife., etc., fists clinched, 
arms drawn back at waist-line, with strong elbow. 

99. Shake fist or warning finger at the imaginary rogue. 

100. Bring arms to side, with fists still clinched. 
Never fear ^ affirmation of head. 

101-102. Extend arm toward them, palm *^ with arm to 
earth;" head lifted; eyes with regard of inferior; 
weight on retired foot. Slowly bring the arm to the side. 

103. Indicate across the body, i.e., with right arm 
toward the left side. Not a single voice., bring arm back 
to side with slight declarative movement. From here 
to line 113 the most effective manner will be with arms 
at the side, the only pantomime being the slightest 
possible action of the muscles of the face, gradually 
hardening into greater and greater sternness. Do not 
scowl nor bluster. Remember that conscious strength 
needs neither pantomimic nor vocal explosions. Make 
the voice and manner menacing, but the menace re- 
strained and thoroughly cool. At your friend^ a slight 
indication of the head and eye alone. 

a — ■ tX« 

The repeated extension of the arms denotes but little intelligence^ little sup- 
pleness in the wrist and fingers. The movement of a single finger indicates 
great finesse. — Delaumosne. 

• - — — — ~ — T 



212 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

113. Something of a pause; then, in off-hand fashion, 
well^ etc. 

115. Desperation^ madness^ distributive action of hand; 
never mind^ negation; here's^ etc., affirmative indication 
of hand, with forefinger active. 

116. Declaration, both hands; fear^ negation, both 
hands and shake of head. 

117. Declaration with surrender, concession. No such 
rush, etc., demonstrative indication, indication with re- 
vealing hand, ** from arm from earth." One or both 
hands. Awe in the voice and manner. 

115-117. This can also be given effectively without 
gestures. 

[When not otherwise indicated, a note refers to the whole line or 
lines under which it stands, beginning with the first word. Bracketed 
words supply ellipses in the text, or paraphrase preceding words.] 



NEWS OF THE DAY. 



"T7VENING Express! Times! Times! Evening Ex- 

^^ press! 
Evening Express? Mister, Times? Times? 
Evening Express?" the newsboy cried, 
But it scarcely rippled the living tide 
That ebbed and flowed in the busy street, 
With its aching hearts and its restless feet. 
Again through the hum of the city thrilled, 
" Evening Express! Great battle! Ten thousand killed!" 
And the little carrier hurried away 
With the sorrowful news of that winter day. 

To a dreary room, in an attic high. 
Trembled the words of that small, sharp cry; 



Red is the color of life. This is asserted by fre, by the heat of the blood. - 
Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 213 

And a lonely widow bowed her head, 

And murmured, "Willie! My Willie is dead! 

Oh! I feared it was not an idle dream 

That led me, last night, to that cold, dark stream, 

Where the ground was wet with the crimson rain, 

And strewed all over with ghastly slain. 

The stars were dim, for the night was wild: 

But I threaded the gloom till I found my child. 

The cold rain fell on his upturned face. 

And the swift destroyer had left no trace 

Of the sudden blow, and the sharp, quick pain, 

But a little wound and a purple stain. 

I tried to speak, but my voice was gone. 

And my soul stood there in the cold, gray dawn, 

While they rifled his body with ruthless hand. 

And covered him up in the reeking sand. 

" Willie, oh, Willie! it seems but a day 
Since thy baby head on my bosom lay. 
Since I heard thy prattle, so soft and sweet, 
And guided the steps of thy tottering feet. 
And thou wert the fairest and last of three. 
Which the Father in heaven had given to me. 
All the life of my life, love, hope, and joy 
Were treastired in thee, my strong, brave boy. 
And the last faint words that thy father said. 
Were, * Willie will mind thee when I am dead.' 
But they tore the flag from thy death-cold hand 
And covered thee up in the reeking sand.'* 
She read the names of the missing and slain. 
But one she read over and over again; 
And still the words which her white lips said, 
Were: ** Company C, William Warren, dead.'* 



On the light of your own soul, on the substance of your own character^ de- 
\pends the completion of acquired knoivledge into practical sJ^ill.—STEEhB 
Mackaye. 



214 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

The night came down to her cold hearthstone, 

But she still read on in that same low tone; 

And still the words her white lips said, 

Were: ^^ Company C, William Warren, dead.'* 

The light of the morning chased the gloom 

From the emberless hearth of that attic room; 

And the city's pulses throbbed again, 

But the mother's heart had forgotten its pain. 

She had gone through the gates to that better land, 

With that terrible list in her thin, cold hand, 

With her white lips parted, as last she said: 

*' Company C, William Warren, dead." 



BREAD. 

(FRANCE 1846-7.) 



Translated by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



[Among the selections to which Mme. Arnaud gives special promi- 
nence in her writings on Delsarte — writings for which we cannot be too 
grateful, as they give us almost the only authentic inner view of the 
great French teacher at work and at home, — " Bread" stands fore- 
most. Darcier, who Mme. Arnaud names as "preeminent in the 
crowd," and who may still be heard in certain circles in Paris, recited 
the selection with great spirit, never failing to make a hit. Doubtless 
one of the chief reasons of the success of "Bread" was its peculiar 
application to the then recent troublous times, when famine stared 
Parisians in the face. "Bread" is really a political song, but for 
the purposes of this book the music is unnecessary. The selection is 
in sympathy with the principles recently enunciated by Henry George, 
and is, therefore, quite appropriate to our own times, apart from its 
literary merit. — Editor.] 

^^7 HEN on the height and by the river 

The mills have hushed their busy clack, 
The miller's donkey browses calmly. 
And carries not the well-filled sack. 



The voice has three agents: the projective agent^ or the lungs: the vibra- 
tive agent^ or the larynx; the reverberative agent^ or the mouth. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 215 

Then Famine, like a wolf, comes stalking. 

And enters homes before our eyes; 
Around, above, a storm is gath'ring, 
And groans go upward to the skies. 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: '* We 
want bread!" 

Then Famine travels from the village, 

The city feels its touch at length; 
Make haste, and seek to stop its journey 

With drums beat hard with all your strength, 
In spite of powder and swift bullet, 

It travels as on wing of bird. 
And on remotest, highest rampart 
It plants its black flag undisturbed. 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
want bread!" 

Of what avail are hosts of soldiers ? 

For Famine gives to those it arms 
The keenest weapons, and it gathers 

Recruits from forests, fields, and farms, 
AVith forks and shovels, scythes and sickles; 

At knell of war fond lovers part. 
And maidens fair are weeping sadly. 

The cannon's summons breaks the heart. 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 
they're led 



The arms should never extend the same %vay. If they follow each other ^ 
one should be m.ore advanced than the other. Never allow parallelism. — 
Delaumosne. 



2i6 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
want bread!" 

Among the eager crowds of people 

Arrest all armed with knife or gun; 
Erect in open squares as menace 

The scaffold's framework nearly done. 
But when, in sight of trembling thousands, 

The bloody sword its work shall end, 
And destinies for aye be settled, 
A cry of *^ Blood " on high ascends. 
Vou cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
want bread!" 

Our daily bread is life's sustainer 
As much as water, fire, and air; 
Without it we are helpless, dying, 

And 'tis God's debt for us to care. 
But has not He paid all He owes us? 

Has He refused to give us soil? 
The sun's bright rays shine warm upon us. 
And ripening grain repays our toil. 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
want bread!" 

The earth is full of life and vigor. 

And grain in harvests rich should yield 

From ardent tropics to north's limit, 
A golden crown for every field. 



Let a head — hbiuever loving one may suppose it to be intrinsically— bend \ 
toward the object of its conteutplation^ and let the shoulder not be lifted^ that 
head ivill plainly lack an air of vitality and warm sincerity without which \ 
it cannot persuade us. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 217 

Dig deep, then, into earth's broad bosom, 

And for this work, which ne'er should cease, 
Beat sword and cannon into ploughshares. 
And change the arm of war to peace! 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: "We 
want bread!" 

What matters, then, the petty quarrels 

Of monarchs, statesmen high in life? 
Shall we, because of foolish hatreds. 

Take up our arms for blood and strife ? 
Far rather let us join our forces. 

With " work " for watchword, peace to reign; 
Give up the earth to plough and sickle. 
And bread will ne'er be scare again. 
You cannot hush the murmurs of the people when 

they're led 
By pangs of hunger; nature speaks, and they cry: " We 
want bread!" 




SUGGESTIVE ANALYSIS. 

Genevieve Stebbins Thompson. 

The first picture to be seen in the imagination and 
externalized in voice and action is the calm of nature 
void of man. Then is ushered in the storm of woe in 



The intelligent man makes few gestures. To multiply gestures indicates a 
lack of intelligence. The face is the thermometer of intelligence. Let as 
much expression as possible be given to the face, — Delaumosne. 



2l8 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

men's hearts, and the stanza culminates in the piteous 
cry, " we want bread/* Those who have been students 
of the Delsarte system of expression will remember the 
striking distinction drawn between the dynamic voice 
with intensity in it and the mere empty tone. To ac- 
quire this dynamic quality, the reader must vividly see 
and deeply feel within himself the scenes and emotions 
depicted in the poem. 

The second stanza should be given with concentration, 
rapidity, and excitement. The refrain *^ we want bread " 
should be given with a vocal coloring of desperation. 

The third stanza should have the character of lamen- 
tation and menace. " The cannon's summons breaks the 
heart," and the refrain, are given in a tone of menace 
and agony. 

The fourth stanza is given with despair and menace, 
and the refrain as if spoken from on high by astern and 
mighty avenger. 

The last three stanzas should be given in an orotund 
tone, as voicing the great principle of the right of all 
God's creatures to enjoy the fruits of their labor. 

In the first stanza the action of the first four lines is 
descriptive, and then Famine is personified by a crouch- 
ing and advancing attitude. In line 7 is a sweeping, 
descriptive gesture, which is followed by an attitude of 
passionate appeal. 

In the second stanza in the first line the arm sweeps 
horizontally, expressing the advance of famine, and is 
held pointing as the body earnestly advances at the sec- 
ond line. At the third line turn to the opposite direc- 
tion and assume a repellent attitude. The gestures in 
the following lines should suggest the action described. 

The third stanza should close with the hands held 
convulsively in a menacing attitude. 

In the fourth stanza the gestures should be of the full 
arm, and should culminate in uplifting the arm above 
the head at the cry of *^ blood." The arm should be 
held aloft until the cry " we want bread," when both 
arms should be uplifted. 



When a 7nan presses a woman's hand., we 7nay affirm that he loves her sen- 
sually — that is to say., solely for physical qualities — if on looking at her., he 
7noves his head toward the shoulder that is opposite her. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 219 

The last three stanzas are purely declamatory; de- 
scriptive and dramatic action ceases and the ordinary 
oratorical gestures are used. 



EVER SO FAR AWAY. 



Von Boyle. 



[I have given this selection successfully without dialect; so did the 
late Harry G. Richmond, comedian. So does Mr. Marshall P. Wilder. 
The following is about the way I present it at children's entertain- 
ments. — VonB.] 

'T^HERE are two very funny fellows in Harlem: one 
■*- is Mr. Pointer, the insurance man; the other is Mr. 
Dingelbender, the butcher man. 

As Mr. Dingelbender sat at supper the other evening, 
the door-bell rang, and Mr. Pointer came rushing into 
the dining-room. 

"Dingelbender, I'm in a scrape, and I want you to 
help me out." 

" You got shcrapes, eh! Veil you shcraped yourselluf 
in — now you can shcrape yourselluf oudt again." 

"Friend Dingelbender, I'm not joking now; I'm in 
dead earnest." 

"Is dot so! Vhen vill dhey burry you? Look here, 
vonct, Mr. Pointer. You vas such a awful choker dat 
if you vas really deadt in earnest, all your friendts vould 
tink somehow it a good choke. But if you vas really in 
some tifficulties, und I can shcrape you oudt, I vill pe 
fery habby to shcrape you already!" 



The law of direction in gesture is: upward for the spiritual and universal ; 
downward for the weak and bestial; horizontally expanded for the serene 
and philanthropic. — Genevieve Stebbins. 

4< J 



220 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'' Thanks. Well, this is how the matter stands. I 
engaged a prestidigitateur, you know, to give our Sun- 
day-school an entertainment, this evening, and the gen- 
tleman met with an accident while practicing some trick. 
He swallowed a piano — I mean an organ, — mouth-organ, 
you know. Now I want you to come right around and 
take his place." 

" No, sir. You tink I vill make a laughing-shtocking 
oudt of mineselluf, und shpoil mine intigestion shwal- 
lowing pianos und moudt-organs und tings? " 

" No, Mr. Dingelbender; I simply want you to address 
the children.'* 

*^ Dress dem shildren! Poor leetle tings, und such a 
coldt night, too! Vy don't you sendt dem back home 
und make deir barents dress dem?'* 

" Now, Dingelbender, don't tease me, and I'll promise 
not to make fun of you any more. Will you address 
the children for me?" 

*' Yes, I vill do de pest vot I can." 

Mr. Dingelbender was as good as his word. In half 
an hour he w^as at the little chapel, confronting a large 
and enthusiastic audience. Rising to the importance of 
the occasion, he said: 

** Mrs. Ladies und shentlemans — und shildrens — es- 
becially de shildrens: 

" I tink on such occasions like dhis ve should reco- 
member dot men und vomens vas only * shildren of de 
larger growdt', und dot poys und girls vas men und 
vomen in miniature. Efery man und vomans vas vonce 
a leetle girl — a leetle poy I mean — und de poy of to-day 
vill be de man of to-morrow, — or de day afder to-mor- 
row. Efery goodt man has shtill someting of de poy 



When a man presses a woman^s hand, we 7nay ajffirnt that he loves her ten- 
derly^ if he bows his head obliquely to her, — Dels arte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 221 

apout him, und efery true poy has someting of de man 
apouthim; und all great mens dhey lofe shildrens. I 
lofe shildrens mineselluf ; I can't helb it — I vas porn dat 
vay. 

** I recomember vhen I vas a leetle shild mineselluf, 
shust as blain as dhough it vas to-morrow. I had put- 
tons all ofer me, und copper door-blates on de frondt of 
mine shoes to keep mine toes inside. Und I had a 
leetle shweetheart. Her frondt name vas Susan — Susan 
Ann Gugenheimer. 5he used to sing a leetle song like 
dhis. 

Vot care I for goldt und silber, 
Vot care I for haus und landt? 
Vot care I for shiffs in de ocean — 
All vot I vant vas a nice yunk man. 

Und I vas her nice yunk man dot time. 

" Veil, ve poys had also a song. Vot you call dot song 
now, vhere you put your handts up dhis vay? \indicati7tg^ 
Oh, I know now, it's \sings?^ * London pridge vas 
purning up, purning up, purning up.* Dot's it. Veil, 
vhile ve sing dot song dhem leetle girls dhey used to go 
underbeneath our handts, und ve — veil, ve usedt to kiss 
*em. Oh, my! \sniacks lips] dem vas de shweetest kisses; 
I can tasdt dhem yedt. 

"Veil, de odher tay I vas sidding by mine open vin- 
dow. Dot school-haus hadt shust ledt himselluf oudt — 
it vas recess times. I pegan to tink apout shildhoodt 
tays — dhem olden tays, — dhem golden tays vot vill nefer 
come pack on me! I fell in a shleep und saw de shky 
vas all full mit cloudts, und de cloudts vas full mit shil- 

A— _— — ^ 



Manner is the unconscious revelator of character; it is the soul's ha7id- 
writingupon the walls of Jlesh.— Mrs. Edna Snell Poulson. 



222 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

drens, und de shildrens vas full mit choy, singing und 
playing dhem happy songs und games of shildhoodt. 
Suttenly dhere appeared amongst dhem a eldterly, 
kindly man dot I recognized at vonce as Fader Goose — ■ 
I mean Fader Gander. He recited a leetle poem dot 
amoosed the shildrens, und somehow touched a responsif 
chord in mine own heart. Und as he recited, dhem 
leetle ones, dhough dhey listened mit him, dhey shtill 
vent on mit dheir own blays und songs, und de effect as 
it reached mine ears vas someting like dhis: 

My name it vas Fader Gander, 
Und I come vrom ofer yonder 
Ofer de hills, past Shones's Mills — 

It vas efer so far avay. 
I came vrom a town in Vonderland, 
It's a peautiful blace, you must undershtand, 
Vhere dhey nefer get late, dhey vas alvays on handt, 

But it's efer so far avay. 

\_Sings.'\ 

* A-vaiting for a pardner. 
So open the ring und pring her in 
Und kiss her ven you get her in.' 

De beoples all de vhile dhere, 

Dhey laugh und dhey sing und dhey shmile dhere: 

Dhere vas nefer a frown in all of dot town, 

But it's efer so far avay. 
Und nopody dhere vas naughdy und rude; 
Und de law of love vas so veil understoodt 
Dat dhey shpend all dheir time in de doing of goodt — 

But it's efer so far avay. 
*, 



When a man presses a woman's hand^ ive may ajffirm. that he does not love 
I hery if his head remains straight or simply bent in facing her. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 223 

{.Sings ?^ 

'Johnny Buff had money enough 
To lock it up in a store-room,' etc. 

Dhey're careful to be righdt dhere; 
Dhey nefer scholdt nor fighdt dhere, 
Und nopody's poor — I'm certain und sure 

Dot it's efer so far avay. 
Und nopody goes to law ofer dhere; 
Vhy, dhey haven't a shail, nor a shudge, nor a mayor. 
For de beoples vas honest, dhey're fair und dhey're 
shquare — 

But it's efer so far avay. 

\_Sings?[ 
* Green gravel, green gravel, 
Your true love vas deadt, 
He sendt you a letter to 
Turn back your headt.* 

De nights vas bright as tay dhere, 
Und dhey haf all kinds of blay dhere; 
Und in a palloon dhey visit de moon — 

Oh, dot's efer so far avay. 
You took vot you vant, for noting vas soldt, 
Vhy, dot landt vas all full mit silber und goldt! 
Und dhey alvays grow yunk — dhey nefer grow oldt; 

But it's efer so far avay. 

{Sings, ^ 
* Little Sally Vaters, sitting in de sun. 
Crying und veeping for a yunk man, 
Rise, Sally, rise, vipe your eyes off mit your frock; 
^ ^ 

Speech is the femlttine^ action the 7nasctiline^ sex in expression. The former 
\ gives the finer manifestation of thought., the latter the stronger revelation 
of life. — Franklin H. Sargent. 



224 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Fly to the east, fly to the vest, 

Fly to the fery vone dot you lofe pest.' 

De mosquitos nefer pite you; 

I'm sure dhey vouldt telight you, 

By singing dheir song de whole night long, 

Pu-z-z-z! efer so far avay. 
Vhat efer you vant you make a vish, 
Und it's prought to you in a shina tish, 
A shlice of pie or a piece of fish — 

But it's efer so far avay. 

* London pridge vas purning up, my fair lady,* 
\Busi7tess of imitating children kissing. "] 
NovnT vouldt you like to go dhere, 
Und see dot vonderful show dhere, 
Ofer de hills, past Shones's mills, 

Und efer so far avay? 
Dhen don't you pe cross und say naughdy tings, 
Und a shpirit vill took you right under his vings, 
To dot landt vhere de honey-bee solemnly sings, 
Und bumples und puzzes und yet nefer shtings, 
Und de shildren all blay mit ponies und shwings, 
Und vear such fine dresses you'd tink dhey vas kings, 
Und efery vone shouts vhen de tinner-pell rings; 

It's efer und efer so far, far, far avay. 

** Und shust dhen I voke oudt; und it vas only a tream. 

But somehow I tink our pest treams vill all come true 

in dot ^ Shweet-pooty quick' pye und pye." 

[Here may follow singing of a verse or two of "The Sweet Bye and 
Bye " by the school or a chorus]. 



When a painter exavtines his ivorky he moves away from it perceptibly. 
He inoves away in proportion to the degree of his admiration of it^ so that the 
retroactive movement of his body is in equci^l ratio to the interest that he feels 
in contemplating his work. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 225 

THE MASSACRE OF ZOROASTER. 



F. Marion Crawford. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



[Nehushta, a Hebrew maiden, betrothed to Zoroaster, had, in a fit 
of jealous anger, married Darius, king of the Persians. Zoroaster, 
greatly grieved, became a high priest. Finding, from an interview 
with him, that her jealousy was groundless, Nehushta was very un- 
happy at her mistake. The king had been called to a distant part of 
his kingdom at the time of the following scene.] 

"POUR days after the king's departure, Nehushta was 
wandering in the gardens as the sun was going 
down. Just then a strange sound echoed far off among 
the hills, an unearthly cry that rang high in the air and 
struck the dark crags and doubled in the echo, and died 
away in short, faint pulsations of sound. She started 
slightly; she had never heard such a sound before. 
Again that strange cry rang out and echoed and died 
away. Her slave-women gathered about her. 

'' What is it?'* asked Nehushta. 

" The war-cry of the children of Anak is like that,'* 
said a little Syrian maid. 

Nehushta pushed the slaves aside and fled toward the 
palace. The truth had flashed across her. Some armed 
force was collecting on the hills to descend upon the 
palace. But one thought filled her mind: she must 
find Zoroaster and warn him. 

Through the garden she ran, and up the broad steps 
to the portico. Slaves were moving about under the 
colonnade, lighting the great torches that burned there 
all night. They had not heard the strange cries from 
the hills. As she entered the great hall, she heard the 
cry again. 

*' Go,'* she said to the little Syrian maid, ^* go in one 
> % — — — _ — __, 

Rising inflection is prospective; falling inflection is retrospective; monotone 
is suspensive.— L^yNis B. Monroe. 



226 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

direction and I will go in another, and search out 
Zoroaster, the high priest, and bring him." 

The girl turned and ran through the halls, and Ne- 
hushta went another way upon her search. On and on 
she went till she came to her own apartment. Not so 
much as one white-robed priest had she seen. Some- 
thing within her told her that she was in great danger, 
and the calm she had seen in the palace could not allay 
the terror of that cry she had heard three times from 
the hills. Just then the Syrian maid came running in, 
and fell breathless at Nehushta's feet. 

" Fly, fly, beloved mistress," she cried; "the devils of 
the mountains are upon us — they cover the hills — they 
are closing every entrance — the people in the lower pal- 
ace are all slain." 

" Where is Zoroaster?" 

*^ He is in the temple with the priests — by this time 
he is surely slain — he could know of nothing that is go- 
ing on — fly, fly!" cried the girl. 

*^ On which side are they coming?" asked Nehushta. 

*^ From the hills; from the hills they are descending 
in thousands," cried the frightened slave-women. 

" Go you all to the farther window," commanded Ne- 
hushta. " Leap down upon the balcony — it is scarce a 
man's height, — follow it to the end and past the corner 
where it joins the main wall of the garden. Run along 
upon the wall till you find a place where you can de- 
scend. Through the gardens you can easily reach the 
road. Fly, and save yourselves in the darkness." But 
before she had half finished, the last of the slave-women, 
mad with terror, disappeared. 

" Why do you not go with the rest?" asked Nehushta 
of the Syrian maid. 



A man shrinks from the object he is considering whenever it inspires hint 
•with a feeling of repulsion. He shrinks from it particularly when it inspires 
him with fright. — Delsakte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 227 

*' I have eaten thy bread, shall I leave thee in the 
hour of death?" asked the slave. 

"Go, child," replied Nehushta. " I have seen thy de- 
votion; thou must not perish." 

But the Syrian leaped to her feet as she answered: 

" I am a bondwoman, but I am a daughter of Israel, 
even as thou art. Though all the others leave thee, I 
will not. It may be that I can help thee." 

"Thou art a brave child," said Nehushta. "I must 
go to Zoroaster; stay thou here, hide thyself among the 
curtains, escape by the window^ if any come to harm 
thee." She turned and went rapidly out. 

But the maid grasped the knife in her girdle, and 
stole upon her mistress's steps. The din rose louder 
every moment — the shrieks of wounded women with 
the moaning of wounded men, the clash of swords and 
arms, and, occasionally, a quick, loud rattle, as half a 
dozen arrows struck the wall together. 

Onward flew Nehushta. She shuddered as she passed 
the head of the great staircase and heard a wild shriek 
that died suddenly into a gurgling death-hiss. She 
paused as she reached the temple-door, and listened. 
Faintly through the thick walls she could hear the 
sound of the evening chant. The priests were all within 
with Zoroaster, unconscious of their danger. Nehushta 
tried the door. The great bronze gates w^ere locked, 
and though she pushed with her whole strength, they 
would not move a hair's breadth. 

" Press the nail nearest the middle," said a small 
voice. Nehushta started. It was the little Syrian 
slave. She put her hand upon the round head of the 
nail and pressed. The door opened, turning noislessly 
upon its hinges. The seventy priests, in even rank, 



Each impression needs but one exp7'essic?t^ so do not multiply gestures. 
Gesture should not usurp the ojffice of speech^ ether-wise it beco7nes pant&rnime, 
— Genevieve Stebbins. 



228 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

stood round. Solemnly the chant rose around the sa- 
cred fire upon the black stone altar. Zoroaster stood 
before it, his hands lifted in prayer. But Nehushta 
with a sudden cry broke their melody: 

^^ Zoroaster — fly — there is yet time! The enemy are 
come in thousands; they are in the palace. There is 
barely time!" 

The high priest turned calmly, his face unmoved, 
although all the priests ceased their chanting and 
gathered about their chief in fear. As their voices 
ceased, a low roar was heard from without, as though 
the ocean were beating at the gates. 

^' Go thou and save thyself," said Zoroaster. " I will 
not go. If it be the will of the All-Wise that I perish, 
I will perish before this altar. Go thou quickly, and save 
thyself while there is yet time." 

But Nehushta took his hand in hers, and gazed into 
his calm eyes. 

" Knowest thou not, Zoroaster, that I would rather 
die with thee than live with any other? I swear to thee, 
by the God of my fathers, I will not leave thee!" 

"There is no more time!" cried the Syrian maid. 
" There is no more time! Ye are all dead men! Be- 
hold, they are breaking down the doors!" 

As she spoke, the noise of some heavy mass striking 
against the bronze gates echoed like thunder through 
the temple, and at each blow a chorus of hideous yells 
rose, wild and long drawn out. 

" Can none of you save Zoroaster?" cried Nehushta. 

But Zoroaster gently said: "Ye cannot save me, for 
my hour is come; we must die like men, and like priests 
of the Lord before His altar;" and, raising one hand to 
heaven, he chanted: 



Dramatic singing is dange7-oiis to the vocal organism; particularly "when 
one practices the shriek or scream^ ivJiich produces a fine effect when skilful- 
ly employed^ but is most perniciotis nvhen used iti ^jr<r<?i-jr. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 229 

CHANT OF ZOROASTER. 
Maestoso. Marcato marzidU Composed by 8. 0. Pbait. 



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years and the a - ges ; Praise Him who rides on death, in whose 



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Emphasize. 



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hand are all power and honor and glory ; Who made the day of 



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life that should rise up and lighten the shadow of death. 



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230 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

With a crash the great bronze doors gave way, and 
fell clanging in. In an instant the temple was filled 
with a swarm of hideous men. Their swords gleamed 
aloft as they pressed forward, and their yells rent the 
roof. They had hoped for treasure^they saw but a 
handful of white-robed, unarmed men. Their rage 
knew no bounds, and their screams rose more piercing 
than ever, as they surrounded the doomed band, and 
dyed their blades in the blood that flowed red over the 
white vestures. 

The priests struggled like brave men, but the foe were 
a hundred to one. At last, one tall wretch leaped across 
a heap of slain and laid hold of Nehushta by the hair 
and strove to drag her out. But Zoroaster's arms went 
round her like lightning and clasped her to his breast. 
The Syrian maid raised her knife, with both hands, high 
above her head, and smote the villain with all her might. 
But ere he had fallen, a sharp blade fell swiftly and 
severed the small hands at the wrist, and the brave lit- 
tle slave fell shrieking to the floor. One shriek, and 
that was all; for the same sword smote her again, and 
so she died. 

But Nehushta's head fell forward on the high priest's 
breast, and her arms clasped him wildly. 

" Oh, Zoroaster, my beloved, my beloved! Say not 
any more that I am unfaithful, for I have been faithful 
even unto death, and I shall be with you beyond the 
stars forever!" 

^^ Beyond the stars and forever!" he cried; "in the 
light of the glory of God most high!" 

The keen sword flashed and severed Nehushta's neck, 
and found its sheath in her lover's heart; and they fell 
down dead together, and the slaughter was done. 



Tones shoitldbe swelled on a single note^ £\) of the medium. By strengthen- 
ing this i^itermediate note the ascending and descending scales are sytnpathet- 
ically strengthened. — Delsarte. 

— 4- 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 231 

A THANKSGIVING ELOPEMENT. 



N. S. Emerson. 



/^UT in the beautiful country, 

^-^ When the yellow moon was high, 

When the autumn fruits were garnered, 

And the winter nights were nigh, 
Old Farmer Pratt was counting 

His herds of lowing kine, 
His sheep with growing fleeces, 

His lazy, fattened swine. 

And as he reckoned slowly, 

He paused to muse awhile. 
When two young voices near him 

Awoke a passing smile. 
One was his eldest daughter, 

Priscilla, speaking low, 
And the other was one of his neighbors. 

He guessed, but he did not know. 

" I can't!" Priscilla was saying, 

" I can't! it's going too far; 
It would make me doubly wretched 

To be deceiving ma. 
And father" — he felt the shudder 

That he could not hear or see; 
And he said: ^^ I b'lieve Priscilla 

Is really afraid of me. 

" She's a skeery thing, like her mother; 
But I vow I didn't suppose 



•f*" 



The injlections are in accord iviih the eyebrows. When the brows are 
raised the voice is raised. This is the nor^nal movement of the voice in re- 
lation to the eyebrow. — Delaumosne. 



232 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The words I've said so keerless 

Was goin' home so close. 
I've laughed about Reuben, and called him 

A sort of shiftless lad, 
But I never thought the fellow 

Was anything very bad. 

"It seems he's been coaxin' and teasin' 

My Prissie to run away; 
It can't do no harm (I'm her father) 

To listen to what they say. 
If he gives her up for fear o' me, 

I don't think much of him. 
And I wonder, should Prissie lose him, 

Would it make her bright eyes dim?" 

" Priscilla, darling," 'twas Reuben, 

Speaking soft and low, 
" I've waited in hope and patience 

J'wo weary years, you know, 
And loved you as only a man loves 

The woman he means to wed; 
And only for your sake, Prissie, 

No word have I ever said 

"To anyone on the subject; 

But to-night — now, listen, dear. 
We must have this matter settled; 

I can't wait another year. 
I'll talk with your father to-morrow, 

And learn his objections to me." 

At »___ 



Singing is not 7ne7-ely a means of displaying the singer's voice or person: it 
is a superior language^ charged with the renderings in its individual charm^ 
of the greatest creations of literature and poetry. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 233 

"Oh, no!" said Priscilla in terror, 
" For then he would think that we — 

" That I had been talking about him. 

And that makes him angriest of all." 
Then Reuben's voice grew^ firmer, 

And seemed to clearer fall: 
" Your father is not an ogre; 

I do not dread his wrath; 
'Tis better for us to be honest. 

And keep a straightforward path. 

" But if he hates me as bad as you think for. 

Of course he'll refuse outright 
All consent to our ever wedding. 

And leave us no chance for flight; 
So I've made up my mind to one thing; 

If you persistently say 
That I mustn't speak to your father, 

Why, then, we must run away." 

"Oh, Reuben!" "Now, Prissie, darling, 

I leave it to you to choose, 
Fve lost my heart and my patience. 

But my wife I'm not willing to lose. 
I sha'n't discuss the subject 

By another w^ord to-night. 
But the day before Thanksgiving, 

If everything's fair and bright, 

" I'll hitch up my roan colt Major — " 

The young folks moved away. 
And old Farmer Pratt stared dumbly, 

f" -. : : — t 

All the educational systems of the zvorld can have but one primary aim: to 
cultivate an instinctive ability in the pupil. Instinct is the force of habit. — 
Franklin H. Sargent. 



234 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

With his head against the hay. 
Next morning he watched Priscilla, 

Her blue eyes were swimming in tears, 
And her quivering chin told plainly 

That her heart was full of fears. 

The day before Thanksgiving 

Dawned crisp and bright and clear; 
And Farmer Pratt's old kitchen 

Was crowded with good cheer. 
All day the golden cider 

Slow trickled from the mill, 
And all day long the farmer 

Was thinking, thinking still. 

Toward night he jammed his hat on 

With most unusual vim, 
And went across the meadow 

At a rapid stride, for him; 
And then, ten minutes later, 

He paused beside a door 
That he left in bitter anger 

Some fifteen years before. 

Out stepped a cheery matron; 

''Why, Brother Pratt! You here! 
Fm sure I'm glad to see you; 

Walk in and take a cheer. 
The weather's getting chilly. 

How is your wife this fall? 
I often see your boys round. 

Handsome, and strong, and tall." 



The word is but a7i echo^ the thought made external and visible^ the a^nbas- 
sador of intelligence. Every energetic passion^ every deep sefitiinent^ is ac- 
cordingly announced by a sign of the head^ the hand^ or the eye, before the 
word expresses it. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 21^ 

But while he questioned to himself 

If she'd take Reuben's part, 
The outer door swung slowly, 

And in walked Deacon Hart. 
The young fo^ks had asked no favors; 

They knew an old feud lay 
Smouldering between the fathers, 

So they would run away. 

But when the two men parted 

Beside the meadow stile. 
Both faces wrinkled kindly 

With a grim and sober smile. 
Soon after came the roan colt, 

Shaking his handsome head; 
The bells were not on the harness, 

And the horse seemed to lightly tread. 

Priscilla hushed her sobbing. 

And hurried down the stair; 
But just as she was stepping 

Out into the frosty air, 
The kitchen door flew open; 

Two tallow dips ablaze 
Filled her with sudden terror, 

And Reuben with amaze. 

But her father's voice was calling: 

" Here, John, you hurry now. 
Go get the ewe and cossets; 

Drive round the brindle cow; 



* 



Delsarte teaches that the relations betiueen the physical and the psychical are T 
so intricate and subtle that whatever form of expression is given to one re- 
flects itself upon the other. As the body assumes mean and grovelling atti- 
tudes., or majestic a^id beautiful ones., so the tnind will be influenced. — Mrs. 
Edna Snell Poulson. I 
^ 



236 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Roll out that barrel of apples, 
And the white Chenangoes fine; 

And bring a keg of cider, 
And a jug of currant wine. 

" Willie, tie up a feather-bed, 

And put the pillows in; 
And, mother, where's the pillow-slips, 

And sheets, and quilts, and things? 
Bring out the new rose blankets 

That in the clothes-press lay; 
Prissie must have her setting out — 

She's going to run away." 

Imagine all the wonder 

That from this was sure to come! 
Imagine tears and kisses 

Thrown in ad libitum! 
And two shame-faced young people 

Waiting another day. 
And then concluding quietly 

That they wouldn't run away. 

The happiest Thanksgiving 

That e'er New England knew 
Dawned on the village homes next day. 

Where those hearts beat warm and true. 
Old feuds were all forgotten. 

Old troubles laid aside. 
And Reuben lived to bless the day 

He won his happy bride. 



Two things are to be observed in the consonant: its explosion and its prepara- 
tion. The t^d^p, etc. ^ keep us waiting; the ch^ v^j, prepare themselves, as \ 
" vvvenez.^'' The vocals ne, nte^ re^ are muffied. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 237 

MARY JANE AND I. 



Annie Rothwell. 



T WAS out last night in the orchard, a-thinkin' of 
Mary Jane, 

Leanin' over the gate at sundown, when the gal hap- 
pened up the lane. 

She kind o' stopped short when she saw me — '' Good 
evenin', marm," she said ; 

While her cheeks took on a color like the apple-blos- 
soms overhead. 

Mary Jane's my next neighbor's daughter : she's power- 
ful set on my Joe ; 

I haven't got much agin her — she's a good enough gal 
as gals go, 

But she can't make a shirt if you paid her, and her but- 
ter's none o' the best ; 

I'd been stiff, I own — never said so, but I think that 
she somehow guessed. 

So she blushed and stammered a little when she found 

me there at the gate 
'Stead o' Joe. I felt ugly, forgettin' that every young 

thing seeks its mate. 
She's on one side and I on t'other, with a river o' years 

between — 
I was nine and forty last birthday, and Mary Jane is 

nineteen. 

And we stood and looked at each other, and couldn't 
find much to say. 



The slide ahvays falls on the accented syllable of the word. — Lewis B. 
Monroe. 



238 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Joe's my youngest — the feelin's o' twenty years can't 

take second place in a day. 
So the best I could do was — nothin' but keep tongue 

and temper still ; 
Till suddenly, out from the thicket, there started a 

whippoorwill, 

Suddent and loud and throbbin', and a lump riz up in 
my throat, 

As it all came back in a minute how I'd heerd that self- 
same note 

The night Rube kissed me and asked me, and I didn't 
tell him no — 

Oh, my heart ! how well I remember it all, though it's 
thirty years ago. 

The long day of hard work and hard livin', and the 

evenin' when I could slip 
To the turn of the road and get full pay in the touch of 

my Reuben's lip, 
And the heavy scoldin' borne cheerful, because 'twas 

for Reuben's sake. 
It's a lovely dream — oh, the pity that the daylight 

comes and we wake ! 

And afterward, when together we fought for our daily 

bread 
On the little rough farm on the hillside, in a home 

scarce more than a shed — 
What did Reuben care for my sewin', if I never had set 

a stitch. 
And we'd eaten dry bread for ever, if we'd had to part 

to be rich ? 



The mouth is a vital thermorneter^ the nose a moral iherfnometer.—T>Ki.- 

SARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 239 

It*s all over — I'm widowed this ten years. The best farm 

in the county's my own ; 
And I wished I was back on ten acres as I leaned on 

that gate— alone. 
It's all over — but still I've been happy, so maybe I 

shouldn't complain. 
Then the thought shivered thro' me like lightnin' — ought 

I grudge it to Mary Jane ? 

Life comes pretty hard on most of us, and it's none too 

sweet at the best ; 
Aint it rather a shame when our own is spoiled to wish 

the same by the rest ? 
My Joe is his father's born ditto — can the gal help her 

likes more than me? 
She's nineteen, and a rosebud — Joe's twenty-one ; what 

hinders the lad to see ? 

Can I keep the dews from fallin', or forbid the growth 

of the pine ? 
Just as soon as stop young folks from lovin' because I'm 

forty-nine ! 
Can I blame *em for likin' the fresh sweet cup that only 

young folks can taste, 
When I d give all I've got for that one June night with 

Reuben's arm round my waist ? 

So the whippoorwill taught me my lesson. I choked 

down the jealous spite, 
And I got my reward in a soft, shy smile, for I kissed 

Mary Jane good-night. 
Though I swallowed a sob as I turned away when Joe 

came over the hill. 
Well, it's hardly likely they'll ever know what they owe 

to that whippoorwill. 



There should be but one climax; all else must ascend toward it or descend 
from zV. —Genevieve Stebbins. 



240 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 
DROPS. 



Peter Robertson. 



T T is a bright summer day in the valley. The stream 
goes dancing down, and the merry globules hud- 
dled all together are laughing as they pass away to the 
deep sea, to mingle v>^ith millions of other drops gath- 
ered from all sorts of places. There are happy drops, 
escaped from the caverns and the rocks^ from the depths 
of the darkness under the mountains; there are unw^ill- 
ing drops, that in the morning lay on the rose leaves and 
took the hues of dainty beauty from their tints; un- 
happy drops, that long again to be mist, and hang over 
the mountain-tops and creep among the fragrant pines; 
gay and laughing drops, that have been tumbling over 
the boulders in and out of shadow, looking forward to 
the hour when they should rush out into the valley and 
be free at last. Among the joyous group one little drop 
goes silently and sadly along, jostled by the others, but 
heeding not their merriment. 

" Why are you sad ?" asks one who has seen the glo- 
rious sunlight but a few hours. " Are you not glad to be 
out, dancing and sparkling like the rest of us? Did 
you love your dark chamber in the rocks so much ?" 

^' My chamber was darker than the rocks," answers 
the other. ^' I am a tear from a mother's heart, a 
mother who wept for her child." 

A little way off two other drops fall together, drawn 
by mutual sorrow. They wander down side by side, 
neither speaking. The gay flood dashes on the banks, 
flashes over rocks, makes a feint of climbing up to seize 



A voice, however powerful it may he, should be inferior to the power which 
anifnates it. — Dels arte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 241 

the flowers that bloom above it, and rattles laughingly 
away. Some of the drops, too venturesome, throw them- 
selves up at the bending sprays of green, are caught and 
lost. But through it all the two sad little things, holding 
on to one another, float on toward the sea. 

"What are you ?" asks one at last. " Did you come 
from the mist or from the earth ? Were you a dew- 
drop this morning, or did you fall from the clouds ?'' 

" I am none of these," it answers. *^ I am from a 
woman^s bright eye. I am the tear of a woman for a 
false lover." 

" Grieve not! Be not so sad. I — am the tear of the 
girl who got him r 



THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST. 



S. W. Foss. 



'T^HE gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth 

-■' an' uv silk, 
An' satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol' brindle's 

milk; 
Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys an' stove-pipe 

hats were there. 
An' doods 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel 

in prayer. 

The elder in his poolpit high, said, as he slowly riz: 
"Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith roomatiz. 
An' as we hev no substitoot, as Brother Moore ain't here, 



The lowered brow signifies retention^ repulsion: it is the signification of a 
closed door. The elevated brow means the open door. The mind opens to let 
in the light or to allow it to escape. — Delaumosne. 



242 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Will some 'un in the congergation be so kind's to vol- 
unteer ?" 

An* then a half-starved, shattered tramp, of wretched 

shabby style. 
Give an interductory cough, an' sadly staggered up the 

aisle. 
Then thro' thet holy atmosphere there crep' a sense er 

sin, 
As tho' some strange, unholy thing had unseen entered in. 

Then Deacon Purington exclaimed, his teeth all set on 

edge: 
^^This man purfanes the house er God! W'y this is 

sacrilege!" 
The tramp didn't hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith 

stumblin' feet, 
An' slowly staggered up the steps, an' gained the organ 

seat. 

Then he went pawin' thro' the keys, an' soon there rose 

a strain 
Thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart, an' 'lectrify the 

brain; 
An' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' 

head an' knees, 
He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the 

keys. 

The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' high 

an' dry. 
It swelled into the rafters, an' reached out into the sky, 

* 



I deny that the thennonietric action of the shoulder undergoes the least 
alteration in the aristocratic world. I deny explicitly that this agent proves 
less expressive and less truthful there than in the street. — Delsarte. 
,_ 4, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 243 

The ol' church shook an' staggered, an' seemed to reel 

an' sway, 
An' the elder shouted ''Glory!" an' I yelled out 

'' Hooray!" 

An' then he tried a tender strain thet melted in our 

ears, 
Thet brought up blessed memories and drenched 'em 

down 'ith tears ; 
An' we dreamed uv ol'-time kitchens, 'ith Tabby on the 

mat, 
Uv home an' luv an' baby-days, an' mother, an' all that! 

An' then he struck a streak uv hope — a song from souls 

forgiven — 
Thet burst from prison-bars uv sin, an' stormed the 

gates uv heaven ; 
The morning stars they sung together, no soul wuz left 

alone ; 
We felt the universe wuz safe, an' God wuz on his 

throne! 

An' then a wail uv deep despair an' darkness come 

again. 
An' long, black crape hung on the doors uv all the 

homes uv men; 
No love, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs uv glad de- 

I light, 

An' then — the tramp, he staggered down an' passed into 
the night! 

But we knew he'd tol' his story, tho' he never spoke a 
word, 



•f* ' 

Unconscious constriction is the element of ivhich ive most need to rid our- 
selves. We must overcome this rigidity in the vzuscles^for it means frigidity 
in the etnotions and their expression. — Mrs. Edna Snell Poulson. 



244 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

An' it wuz the saddest story thet our ears had ever 

heard; 
He had tol' his own life's history, an' no eye was dry thet 

day, 
Wen the elder rose an' simply said : ^* My brethren, let 

us pray." 



MICKEY TREE'S LETTER TO MRS. 
M'GRA. 



Charles Lever. Arranged by John A. MacCabe. 

[As Mr. Free's letter may be as great a curiosity to you as it has 
been to me, I will read it. The occasional interruption to the current 
of the letter arises from Mike having used the pen of a comrade, writ- 
ing being, doubtless, an accomplishment forgotten in the haste of pre- 
paring Mr. Free for the world; and the amanuensis has, in more than 
one instance, committed to paper more than was meant by the author.] 

" IVT ^^* M'GRA,— Tear-an'-ages, sure I need not be 
treating her that way. Now just say, Mrs. 
Mary ; ay, that'll do: — Mrs. Mary, it's maybe surprised 
you'll be to be reading a letter from your humble ser- 
vant, sitting on the top of the Alps. — Arrah, maybe its 
not the Alps; but sure she'll never know — foment the 
whole French army, with Bony himself and all his jin- 
nerals — God be between us and harm — ready to murther 
every mother's son of us, av they was able, Molly, dar- 
lin'; but, with the blessing of Providence, and Lord 
Wellington, and Misther Charles, we'll bate them yet, as 
we bate them afore. 

'^ My lips is wathering at the thought o' the plunder. 
I often think of Tim Riley, that was hanged for sheep- 
stealing; he'd be worth his weight in gold here. 

If in looking at a woman I clasp my hands^ and at the same time raise my I 
shoulders^ there is no longer any doubt of tny feeling: and instinctively every j 
one will say: " He loves her truly. "^"^ — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 245 

" Misther Charles is now a captain — devil a less — and 
myself might be somethin' that same, but ye see I was 
always of a bashful nature, and recommended the 
masther in my place. ' He's mighty young, Misther 
Charles is,' says my Lord Wellington to me — ' he's mighty 
young, Mr. Free.' ^ He is, my lord,' says I; 'he's 
young, as you obsarve, but he's as much divilment in 
him as many that might be his father.' ' That's some- 
thin', Mr. Free,' says my lord; ^ ye say he comes of a 
good stock?' * The rale sort, my lord,' says I; 'an ould, 
ancient family, that's spent every sixpence they had in 
treating their neighbors. My father lived near them for 
years' — you see, Molly, I said that to season the dis- 
coorse. * We'll make him a captain,' says my lord; ' but, 
Mr. Free, could we do nothing for you?' * Nothing, at 
present, my lord. When my friends come into power,' 
says I, * they'll think of me. There's many a little thing 
to give away in Ireland, and they often find it mighty 
hard to find a man for lord-lieutenant; and if that 

same, or a tide-waiter's place was vacant' ' Just tell 

me,* says my lord. * It's what I'll do,' says I. 'And 
now, wishing you happy dreams, I'll take my lave.' 
Just so, Molly, it's hand and glove we are. A pleasant 
face, agreeable manners, seasoned with natural modesty, 
and a good pair of legs, them's the gifts to push a man's 
way in the world. And even with the ladies — but sure 
I'm forgetting, my masther was proposed for, and your 
humble servant, too, by two illigant creatures in Lis- 
bon; but it wouldn't do, Molly, — it's higher nor that 
we'll be looking — rale princesses, the devil a less. 

"Tell Kitty Hannigan I hope she's well; she was a 
disarving young woman in her situation in life. Shusey 



A bow jjzust not be always bent; and, on the same J>rincipie, the body should 
not be always tense. — Genevieve Stebbins. 



246 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Dogherty, at the cross-roads — if I don't forget the 
name — was a good-looking slip, too; give her my affec- 
tionate salutations, as we say in the Portuguese. I hope 
I'll be able to bear the inclementuous nature of your 
climate, when I go back; but I can't expect to stay 
long — for Lord Wellington can't do without me. We 
_play duets on the guitar together every evening. The 
masther is shouting for a blanket, so no more at present 
from, 

" Your very affectionate friend, 

" Mickey Free. 
" P.S. — I don't write this myself, for the Spanish 
tongue puts me out o' the habit of English. Tell 
Father Rush, if he'd study the Portuguese, I'd use my 
interest for him with the bishop of Toledo. It*s a 
country he'd like. '* 



THE B. B. ROMANCE. 



Edgar Fawcett. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



[Mr. Buntling, a weakhy pork-dealer, and his wife have just returned 
from Europe and are spending a season in New York for the purpose 
of making a notable match for their daughter Jane. Mrs. B. gives a 
ball to introduce themselves into society. The guests arrive, and Jane, 
soon wearying of the idle talk, goes alone into the conservatory say- 
ing:] 

JANE. How bitter sounds their frigid worldliness! I 
loathe it all. 
I act a part, and am not what I seem. 
These six bouquets, sent by myself, are borne 
As mask and sham, concealing my true will. 
^ — ___ -^ • — — — J4 

I There is very little harmony or relation between the exquisite joints of a re- T 
\ fined nature^ the sivi/t and the flexible movements of an elegant organism, 
and the evolutions clumsily executed by torpid litnbs, ankylosed^ as it were, 
\ bv hard and constant labor. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 247 

For I desire no vain supremacy 

In ranks of fashion, but my soul has bowed 

In reverent homage to Leander Briggs. 

Obscure is my Leander; we have met 

But thrice. He is a simple dry-goods clerk, 

Yet his pure, lofty soul towers high above 

The gross necessities of dry-goods; he 

Is nobly eminent, a man of men. 

Would he were here to-night! 

Leander Briggs. Jane, loveliest of all womankind! I 
dare 
To greet thee; I am insolently here! 

Jane. Here! Thou, Leander? Thou art here to- 
night ? 

Leander. I am. 

Jane. By invitation ? 

Leander. Nay, without. 

Jane. What means this unsurpassed audacity? 

Leander. Nay, hearken ere thou blame. Since that 
sweet hour 
When thou didst purchase two yards of pink silk 
Of Meares and Company, a fierce, wild flame 
Seems burning this poor heart of mine to ash. 
No more for me my boarding-house allures 
When the long dining-table buzzes high 
With social chat, and gossip thrives elate. 
No more to me the obdurate beefsteak 
Nor yet the sinewy chop seem tender viands, 
For healthful appetite has fled my life. 
Never again the unpalatable bread, 
The inferior butter, the imporous tart. 
The gravy turned conglomerate, nor the soup 

A ^ 

Encourage attitudes that are sympathetic^ royal^ and significant of spirit- 
ual heroism^ and you will foster the sentiments that these attitudes symbolize. 
— Mrs. Edna Snell Poulson. 



ns 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



O'erfilmed with lucid grease, can satisfy. 

The huge emporium, with its clamors coarse, 

Its mercantile vulgarity, its yells 

Of ^' cash," its haggling customers, its air 

Gf sordid discipline, repels and shocks. 

Thy face, thine eyes. 

Thy presence, haunt me with distracting force ! 

And therefore I am here. O pity me! 

Jane. That morn, when I made purchase of pink silk 
Of Meares and Company, I will avow, 
Was bright with new and strange experience. 

Leander. Again didst thou appear. Again pink silk 
I measured with unsteady hand. 

Jane. True. And once more we met! 'Twas Friday 
last. 

Leander. Thou dost recall the day? O happiness! 

day most memorable! O Broadway car. 
Wherein we met! O fateful interview! 

Jane. I learned thy name, and answered with mine 

own. 
Leander. We left the car. We strolled in quiet 
streets. 
Enthralled by dreamy converse, each with each. 

Jane. 'Twas terribly imprudent. I repent 
Mine act. I told thee all. No detail did I spare. 

1 told thee of my proud and cold mamma; 
I told thee of my democratic sire. 

Leander. Thou didst. And eagerly I listened, too; 
And ere we parted I had made resolve 
To win thee as my bride, and sworn my love. 

Jane. We cannot wed. Thine act is desperate 
In coming hither. If mamma should dream 



Gesture corresponds to the soul^ to the heart; language to the life^ to the 
thought^ to the 7nind. The life and the mind being subordiriate to the hearty I 
to the soul^ gesture is the chief organic agent. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



249 



What man thou really art, her wrath would fall 

Alike on me and thee with fearful weight. 

She wills that I shall wed some haughtier name, 

Some man with old Dutch blood, though lean of purse. 

Wherefore tarry not. 

But go at once, nor e'en delay to taste 

The succulent oyster and the bronze-brown quail. 

Leander. Quail me no quails, O thou supremely 
loved! 
Nay, oyster me no oysters, cruel heart! 
Is love so weak in thy chill maiden breast 
That fear can slay it thus, nor lightly let 
One meagre smile pass faintly o'er thy lips ? 
No timorous palpitance of moistened lid. 
No transitory touch of palm to palm, 
No last brief look of love immeasurable. 
Blossoming between thine eyelids and thine eyes ? 

Jane. Whence hast thou caught such warm-hued 
trick of speech ? 
Thine eloquence is like the bloomJul chintz 
That florid, sanguine, gorgeous, hangs for sale 
Above thy counter at the Meares bazaar. 

Leander. Let me go hence. I think I shall not live 
A great while, now. When thou shalt hear the news 
That I am dead at Number Twenty-Blank 
West Thirty-Seventh Street, front room, third floor, 
I pray of you to bear it well in mind 
That I particularly do request 
No flowers be sent. Such act were mockery. 
Live shalt thou, for no grief would make thee die. 

Jane. Great grief would melt my heart. Of this thou 
art sure. 



In distinctioji equally froju artifice and fir o in nature^ art grasps the essen- 
tial luith a noble disregard ofi the accidentals and finely subordinates ivhat is 
particular to ivhat is general. — Rev. W. R. Alger. 



*- 



250 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Leander. Sure am I not. Thou speakest weightless 
words. 

Jane. As an ice-cream on a warm plate am I. 

Leander. Thou meanest that thy spirit bids me stay? 

Jane. I neither bid thee stay nor bid thee go. 

Leander. So shall I then not heed, imploring thee 
To fly with me this very night and seek 
A clergyman, who straight will make us one. 

Jane. Mamma draws near. What folly hast thou said.'' 

Leander. I have said no folly. Dost thou deem it 
such ? 

Jane. Should I do this mad thing, I must get wraps. 

Leander. Sealskin and wool thou verily must get. 

Jane. Get them I would if courage failed me not. 

Leander. Dear acquiescent Jane ! And yet I trace 
Reluctant resignation in your phrase. 

Jane. Farewell, the great church-organ's mellow 
boom; 
Farewell, the long train shimmering up the aisle; 
Farewell, the point-lace drapery richly hung 
Down o'er the neck bediamonded bright; 
Farewell, the attendant maidens, the bouquets, 
The subsequent reception — farewell, all! 
Well do I fare, perchance, in thy true love, 
Since brides that have no love like thine fare ill. 
Yet sweet it were to wed thee not by stealth, 
But openly, engirt with joyful guests. 
And feel, departing in my travelling-robe, 
A storm of slippers pelt the carriage-roof. 

Leander. Still thou wilt go, heeding thy promise 
given. 

Jane. Yes, I will go. Let's haste. 
^^ 



Lacordaire spoke -mngnijicently . He interested^ he aroused admiration^ 
but did not persuade. His organism was rebellious to gesture. He was the 
artist of language. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 25 1 

PET AND BIJOU. 



Helen Mar Bean. 



" IV/fY dear, Fm delighted to see you, 
^ And the dear dogs! How perfectly sweet; 

But you look scared. What can be the matter? 
You are covered with mud from the street." 

" Oh, yes; I am wholly exhausted; 

Do let me a moment recline; 
And, Julia dear, if you would give me 

Just the tiniest, wee drop of wine. 

" Ah, thanks; I am sure 'twill revive me, 
I've been nearly frightened to death; 

I'll tell you, my dear, all about it. 

When I've fully recovered my breath. 

" You know I am fearfully nervous. 

And Pet, too, has seemed ill of late; 
He wheezes and pants when he's walking, 

So I sent out for old Doctor Waite, 

" Wha felt of my pulse for a moment. 

Then nodded, and looked very wise, 
And said in an unfeeling manner, 

* What you all need is more exercise! * 

" < We go out each day in the carriage,* 

I said, but he pooh-poohed at that. 
** You must walk more, my dear, young lady/ 

Then he hastily took up his hat. 

" So early this morning we started 

('Twas really a great sacrifice) 
To take for myself and my darlings 

What the doctor prescribed, * exercise.* 



A modifying phrase reverts by its pitch to the clause or word niodijied.- 
Lewis B, Monroe. 



252 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" The morning was perfectly charming, 
And my costume so stylish and new; 

I flattered myself we were striking, 
As we walked down the broad avenue. 

^' Pet's chain was attached to my bracelet, 
Just here, on this broad golden band; 

And to Bijou I fastened a ribbon 

Which I carelessly held in my hand. 

'' 'Twas really amusing to see them 

Look down on the poor dogs they met; 

Bijou was so proud and defiant. 
Quite disdainful my dear little Pet. 

** The rogues were so wild with excitement, 

I scarcely could keep on my feet. 
When all of a sudden Pet's chain broke. 

And away he dashed into the street! 

" Just try and imagine my feelings — 
But you cannot, I'm sure, my dear Ju, — 

When for dear little Pet I was looking, • 
I lost hold of precious Bijou! 

" And just at that dreadful moment 

I saw a big team going by; 
Oh! how my poor heart sank within me 

As I heard a loud bark and a cry. 

" Quick into the street from the sidewalk 

I ran, I might well say I flew. 
Frightened almost out of my senses; 

I felt sure it was Pet or Bijou. 
^ — ^ 

IRavignan^ ijjferior intellectually to Lacordaire^^ prepared his audience by 
his attitude^ touched them by the general expression of his /ace, fascinated 
them by his gaze. He was the artist of gesttcre . — Delsarte, 
— 4, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 253 

" A great crowd of people had gathered 

Round a form all covered with dirt, 
And I never, my dear, was so thankful 

When I found that my pets were unhurt. 

***Who was injured?' you ask, my dear Julia, 

Oh, a poor little child of the street. 
Who had strayed from some dismal, old alley, 

With patched clothes, and bare little feet. 

" He had a leg broken, or something, 

I didn't have time to inquire. 
But ran to my poor little treasures. 

Whom I found running round in the mire. 

"I caught up the mud-covered darlings. 
And pressed them both close to my breast, 

Too thankful to think of my costume, — 
I've just ruined the rich, stylish vest! 

" I think it's a shame that these people 
Allow their young children to roam; 

There should be a law to compel them 
To keep the poor beggars at home. 

" For, of course, such things are unpleasant 

For a lady of weak nerves like me; 
And, really, it has quite upset me, 

As you, my dear Julia, can see. 

^* But I kept saying over and over, 

Coming back on the broad avenue, 
With a most grateful heart, ^ Thank heaven, 

It was neither dear Pet nor Bijou! ' " 



The most direct^ universal^ and natural ifiode of expressio?i in man and his 
world is visible motion and its resultant /"orms, and attendant colors a7id 
qualities. — Franklin H. Sargent. 



354 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

A COQUETTE CONQUERED. 



Paul Laurence Dunbar. 



"V^ES; my h^a't^s ez ha'cl ez stone — 
Go' way, Sam, an' lemme 'lone. 
No, I ain't gwine change my mln' — 
Ain't gwine ma'y you — nuffin' de kin'. 

Phiny loves you true an' deah? 
Go ma'y Phiny; what I keer? 
Oh, you needn't mou'n an' cry— 
I don't keer how soon you die. 

Got a present? Whut you got? 
Somef n fu' de pan er pot? 
Huh ! Yo' sass do sholy beat — 
Think I don't git 'nough to eat? 

Whut's dat un'neaf yo' coat? 
Looks des lak a little shoat. 
'Tain't no possum! Bless de Lamb! 
Yes, it is, you rascal, Sam ! 

Gin it to me! Whut you say? 
Ain't you sma't now! Oh, go 'way! 
[Pantomime of avoiding kiss,] 
Possum do look mighty nice, 
But you ax too big a price. 

Tell me, is you talkin' true, 

Dat's de gal's whut ma'ies you? 

Come back, Sam; now whah's you gwine? 

Co'se you know's dat possum's mine! 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



255 



THE SWORD DRILL. 



^'THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADES 



Anna B. Webb. 



T^HIS is designed for 16 girls in costume of navy 
blue, made with zouave jacket and white vest, 
wearing military caps, and carrying wooden swords 
covered with silver tinsel. 

The music to accompany the movements should be 
in good march time, and spirited. 



y 

y 





TED 

Diagram I. 



I. In two companies they advance from opposite sides 
of stage, meeting partners at B, Diagram I. March to 
front, E, in couples. Give military salute with left 
hands and separate. 

II. No. I marches E — D — C; No. 2 marches E — F — A. 
Lines turning at C and A, follow dotted lines across to 
F and D. Turn at these points and repeat the move- 
ment. 

III. Companies coming the third time to C and A 



The ma7iage7nent of ike ivrist is of great iiiiportaJice^ as upon that depends} 
the elastic carriage of the hand. The nerzwus force ^ which flouus down the 
arjH, should be held at the wrist and preve7ited from over-energizing the \ 
hand. — Genevieve Stebbin's. 



^ 



256 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

meet partners at centre, G, and turn off to D and F. 
Repeat. • 

15, 14, 13, 12, II, 10, 

9» 8, 7, 6, 5, 
4, 3, 2, I. 
Diagram II. 

IV. Turn on F and D and around the square to B, 
where the entire company falls into single line, march. 
G — E — D — C — B — A — ^F. Take positions according to 
Diagram 11. 

(No. 16 can step behind a screen until marching be- 
gins again.) 

V. The teacher, or a girl chosen to read the poem, 
now gives the following orders: 

1. Present Arms. Swords held with both hands in 
front of face. 

2. Shoulder Arms. Swords on right shoulder. 

3. Carry Arms. Swords at right side. 

4. Charge. High overhead. 

5. Shoulder Arms. Same as No. 2. 

6. Ground Arms. Points touch floor. 

7. Attack. Overhead, points to right. 

8. Retreat. Right foot thrown back, right hand 
covering face, point of sword down. 

9. Surrender. Fall on knees, handle of sword to 
audience. 

10. Carry Arms. Same as No. 3. 

11. Sheathe Arms. Swords put in a case made of 
stiffened cloth on left side. 

\Music ceases^ 
The poem is read and class go through it in panto- 
mime. 



I The head^ considered in its three direct />oses, presents three conditions or 
states: luhen facing the object contemplated^ it presents the normal state; bent 
forward and in the direction of the object y it presents the concentric state; 
raised and considering the object from above^ it presents the eccentric state. — 
Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 257 

Explanation" of Abbreviated Gesture Terms Used 
IN Pantomime. 

w. b. f . = weight to back foot. 

w. f. f. = weight to front foot. 

r. h. p. = right hand prone. 

1. h. p. •= left hand prone. 

r. h. su. = right hand supine. 

b. h. su. = both hands supine. 

b. h. p. =r both hands prone. 

opp. = opposition of head and hand. 

VI. Mj. ft./. Half a league^ half a league^ r. h. p. 3 strokes. 
Half a league onward^ 
All in the valley of death t.n.su. 
Rode the six hundred. 
w.f.f.'' Charge r was the captain's cry. uhtrok^' 

Theirs not to make reply; r. h. 2nd stroke. 
w.b.f. Theirs not to reason why; r.h.p. 

Theirs but to do, and die: SesVi5?ng' '^^^S''^^''' 
Into the valley of death b.h.p. 
Rode the six hundred, opp. 

10././. Cannon to right of th^m, r.h.p. 
Cannon to left of them, ^./i. p. 
Cannon in front of them, & h. vertical. 

Volleyed and thundered: noia same position. 
iJo.b.f, Stormed Sit with shot and shell, i. n. covers face 
Boldly they rode and well; t.h.ievei. 
Into the jaws of deaths b.h.p. 
Into the mouth of hell, 2nd stroke. 
Rode the six hundred, opp. 

Flashed diW their sabres bare, ^'^74"^/^^^^^^ 
Flashed SiS they turned in s\r,'^y^^^ 



The history o/ passion presents three phases: firsts passion in its concen- 
trated form: second^ passion in its expansile forni: third, the prostration 
which folloivs from that expansion. In proportion to the intensity of the con- 
centration will be the force of the expansion and the completeness of the pros- 
tration that follows. — St'b.e.i.ts. Mackaye. 



258 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Sabring the gunners there, Sfief'^ "^''^ 
Charging an army, while ?St?Sf '"^^ 

All the world wondered ! i. h. su. 
Plunged \rs. the batter y-^;;^^^^, SJ'''''^' "^'^'' 
Right through the line they broke, 'ma stroke. 
Cossack and Russian 
Reeled from the sabre-stroke, ^LTro'S?, ^orT"" 

Shattered and sundered, swords thrown to jioor. 
Position. Then they rode back; but not — 

Not the six hundred, opp. 

«*'././. Cannon to right of them, eyes to right. 
Cannon to le/i of thtm, eyes to le/t. 

Cannon behind them, eyes over le/t shoulder. 

Volleyed and thundered: /loz^postY/on. 
Stonneddil with shot and sheU, ^^.-^rco^f.^Xl 
v}.h.f. While horse and h^vo fell, b.h.p. 

They that had fought so well r.h. overhead. 

Came through the jaws of death, b.h.p. 
Back from the mouth of hell, 2nd stroke. 
All that was le/l of them — b.h.su. 
Left of six hundred. 2nd stroke. 

When can their glory fade? r.h.su. 
Oh, the wild charge they made! 2nd stroke. 
All the world wondered. 6. n. su. 
Honor the charge they made! r.h.su. 

Honor the Light Brigade, 2nd stroke higher. 

Noble six hundred! Zrd stroke overhead. 

[Music begins.'^ 
At the command " recover arms," each girl steps back, 
takes sword from floor, and carries it at right side. 
VII. Left face, single file (Diagram I.), march D — C — 

A 

» When we sing, let its not forget that the prelude, the refrain, is the spirit- 
f ual expression of the sons;: ive viust cause our hearers to foresee by the expres- 
' 'iicn of our face the thought and the words that are to follow — the auditor 
\ sKonld he dazzled by a sons' that he has not yet heard^ but that he divines or 
1 thinks that he divines. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 259 

B — A — F — E. From E, No, i begins circle, winding it 
smaller on every round until she reaches centre. Turn- 
ing there, she retraces her steps until company is 
brought into one large circle. 

VIII. (Diagram I.) Single file. March B— G— E. 
Odd numbers file left, even numbers file right. Form 
two circles, one within the other. March around twice; 
the third time halt at partners. ^Nlarch, even numbers 
to right, odd to left, in and out, making the chain, twice 
around. Halt at partners. Inner circle "about face;" 
march, double file, around circle twice. 

IX. (Diagram I.) Double file. March B— G— E. 
Odd numbers file right, march F — A — B; even numbers 
file left, march D — C — B, lines meeting at B. Front 
face. March to front in straight, solid rank. Company 
dividing into fours, wheel, No. i pivoting, No. 4 making 
outer circle of wheel, No. 5 pivoting. No. 8 making 
circle, and so on. Number from end of line. Wheel 
twice. In third round stop half way, back to audience, 
March in solid rank to rear of stage. Nos. 4, 8, 12, 16 
wheel backward into straight line, front face. At com- 
mand " front line advance," odd numbers step front, 
even numbers keep position. 

X. Music changes to a soft, slow melody in f time. 
Swords are raised slowly overhead, right hand higher 
than left; right foot advanced; head on right shoulder; 
eyes down. Lines sway slowly from right to left 
through twelve measures, counting six to each move- 
ment. Swords raised straight overhead; eyes front. 
Both lines advance with dance movement to front of 
stage. Turn right, keeping same step; leave stage in 
couples. 



Our gesticulation is a 7nuscular vocabulary which i>Uerprets for us the 
\ fluctuations in force ^ energy^ and passion, in thought and reason^ in affec- 
\ t ion a?id volition. — Mrs. Edna S\e;.i. Poulsox. 



26o DELS ARTE HECITATION BOOK. 



THE KITCHEN CLOCK. 




John Vance Cheney. 



NITTING is the maid o' the 

kitchen, Milly; 
Doing nothing, sits the chore 

boy, Billy; 
" Seconds reckoned, 
Seconds reckoned; 
Every minute. 
Sixty in it, 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
Nick-knock, knock-nick, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Close to the fire is rosy Milly, 
Every whit as close and cosy, 

Billy; 
" Time's a-flying. 
Worth your trying; 
Pretty Milly— 
Kiss her, Billy! 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Tick-tock, tock-tick. 
Now — now, quick — quick! 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
' Goes the kitchen clock. 

Something's happened, very red 
is Milly; 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 261 

Billy boy is looking very silly; 
" Pretty misses, 
Plenty kisses; 
Make it twenty, 
Take a plenty, 
Billy, Milly, 
Milly, Billy, 
Right-left, left-right. 
That's right, all right, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy; 
Oh, the winter winds are wondrous chilly; 
" Winter weather, 
Close together; 
Wouldn't tarry, 
Better marry, 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Two — ^^one, one — two. 
Don't wait, 'twon't do, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Winters two are gone, and where is Milly? 

Spring has come again, and where is Billy?^ 

" Give me credit, 

For I did it; 

Treat me kindly. 

Mind you wind me. 

Mister Billy, Mistress Milly, 



Imagine yourself an artist,^ your face the clay to be molded into an exalted 
expression: but^ as with the artist^ a mere viechanical jiiolding will not suc- 
ceed — the form must come from a high ideal within. — G'E'S'E.weve Stebbins. 



262 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

My — oh, oh — my! 
By-by, by-by, 

Nickety-knock, cradle rock/' 
Goes the kitchen clock. 




MAMMY'S LI'L' BOY. 



H. S. Edwards. 



[This recitation, which is destined to become very popular, is 
greatly improved by singing or rather crooning the stanza beginning 
" Byo baby boy," as one would sing it when trying to hush a child to 
sleep. — Editor.] 

A '\ rnO all time dodgin' en de cott'n en de corn? 

Mamm.y's liT boy, mammy's liT boy! 
Who all time stealin* ole massa's dinner-horn? 
Mammy's liT baby boy. 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o liT boy! 
Oh, run ter es mammy 
En she tek 'im in 'er arms. 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 



How many things does the shoulder reveal by those slight changes unnoticed 
by ignorant persons^ and expressing particularly the delicate and exquisite 
charm of spiritual relations! It is the law of infinitesimal quantities or 
those scarcely perceptible movements or sensations that characterize the finer 
relations of people of culture y of eloqtience^ of grace^ and of refined tastes. — 
Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 263 

Who all time runnin' ole gobble roun' de yard? 

Mammy's liT boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
Who tek 'e stick 'n hit ole possum dog so hard? 

Mammy's liT baby boy. 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o li'l' boy! 
Oh, run ter es mammy 
En climb up en 'er lap, 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Who all time stumpin' es toe ergin er rock? 

Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
Who all the time er-rippin' big hole en es frock? 

Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o liT boyl 
Oh, run ter es mammy 
En she wipe es li'l' eyes. 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Who all time er-losin' de shovel en de rake ? 

Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
Who all de time tryin ter ride 'e lazy drake? 

Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o li'l' boy! 
Oh, scoot fer yer mammy 
En she hide yer f om yer ma, 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Who all de time er-trottin' ter de kitchen fer er bite? 
Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 

A ^ 



The f7ian who threatens with the shoulder is more passionate; hut he is not 
I the agent^ he is passive. — Delaumosne, 



264 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Who mess 'esef wi' taters twell his clothes dey look 
er sight? 
Mammy's liT baby boy. 

Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o liT boy! 
En 'e run ter es mammy 
Fer ter git 'im out er trouble, 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

Who all time er-frettin' en de middle er de day? 

Mammy's li'l' boy, mammy's li'l' boy! 
Who all time er-gettin' so sleepy 'e can't play ? 

Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 

% Byo baby boy, oh bye, 
By-o li'l' boy! 
En 'e come ter es mammy 
Ter rock 'im en 'er arms, 
Mammy's li'l' baby boy. 
Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, 
Shoo, shoo, shoo! 

Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo. 
Shoo, li'l' baby, shoo! 
Shoo, shoo, shoo-shoo-shoo, 
Shoo, shoo, shoo. 
Shoo .... 

Deir now, lay right down on mammy's bed en go 
'long back ter sleep, — shoo-shoo! . . . Look hyah, 
nigger, go way f'om dat do'! You wake dis chile up 
wid dat jewsharp, en I'll wear yer out ter frazzles! — 
Sh-h-h-h— 
A : ^ 



A cofitvtotion that produces a strong hnpression^ cofninunicates to the arms 
an ascending motion which may lift them high above the head. — Delsarte. 




"He comes! Whither shall I go?" 




CLEMENCY OF AN AFRICAN KING. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 265 
CIVIL WAR. 



Translated by Lucy H. Hooper. 



nPHE mob was fierce and furious. They cried: 

" Kill him!'' the while they pressed from every 
side 
Around a man, haughty, unmoved, and brave, 
Too pitiless himself to pity crave. 
*^ Down with the wretch!" on all sides rose the cry; 
The captive found it natural to die. 
The game is lost — he's on the weaker side, 
Life, too, is lost, and so must fate decide. 

From out his home they dragged him to the street, 
With fiercely clinching hands and hurrying feet 
And shouts of " Death to him!" The crimson stain 
Of recent carnage on his garb showed plain. 
This man was one of those who blindly slay 
At a king's bidding. He'd shot men all day, 
Killing he knew not whom, he scarce knew why, 
Now marching forth, impassible, to die. 

A woman clutched his collar with a frown, 
" He's a policeman — he has shot us down!" 
'' That's true," the man said. " Kill him!" ^^Shoot him!" 

"Kill!" 
"No, at the arsenal"— '" The Bastile!"—" Where you 

will," 
The captive answered. And with fiercesfbreath. 
Loading their guns, his captors still cried " Death!" 
" We'll shoot him like a wolf!" " A wolf am I? 
Then you're the dogs," he calmly made reply. 



Clavicular breathing- brings the chest or mental zone into action. It is a 
hysteric -method^ only to be used ivhen the dramatic situation demands sob- 
bing., gasping utterance. — Genevieve Stebbins, 



266 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'' Hark, he insults us!" And from every side 
Clinched fists were shaken, angry voices cried. 
Within his eyes a gleam of baffled hate, 
He went, pursued by howlings, to his fate. 
Treading with wearied and supreme disdain 
'Midst forms of dead men he, perchance, had slain. 
He would have shot them all had he the power. 
" Kill him — he's fired upon us for an hour!" 

*^ Down with the murderer — down with the spy!" 

And suddenly a small voice made reply, 

" No — no, he is my father!" And a ray 

Like to a sunbeam seemed to light the day, 

A child appeared, a boy with golden hair. 

His arms upraised in menace or in prayer. 

All shouted, '' Shoot the bandit, fell the spy!" 

The little fellow clasped him with a cry 

Of " Papa, papa, they'll not hurt you now!" » 

The light baptismal shone upon his brow. 

From out the captive's home had come the child. 

Meanwhile the shrieks of "Kill him — death!" rose wild; 

And in the street ferocious shouts increased 

Of " Slay each spy — each minister — each priest, 

We'll kill them all!" The little boy replied: 

" I tell you this is papa." One girl cried: 

"A pretty fellow — see his curly head!" 

** How old are you, my boy?" another said, 

*^ Do not kill papaj" only he replies. 

A soulful lustre lights his streaming eyes. - 

Some glances from his gaze are turned away. 
And the rude hands less fiercely grasp their prey. 



As soon as surprise is great enough to raise the shoulders and the arms, the 
I head takes an inverse direction: it sinks, and seetns anxious to become solid, 
to offer more resistance. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 267 

Then one of the most pitiless says, *^ Go — 

Get you back home, boy." "Where — why?" "Don't 

you know? 
Go to your mother." Then the father said, 
" He has no mother." " What — his mother's dead? 
Then you are all he has?" " That matters not," 
The captive answers, losing not a jot 
Of his composure as he closely pressed 
The little hands to warm them in his breast. 

And says, "Our neighbor, Catherine, you know, 

Go to her." " You'll come, too ?" " Not yet." " No, no, 

Then I'll not leave you." "Why?'* "These men, I fear, 

Will hurt you, papa, when I am not here." 

The father to the chieftain of the band 

Says softly: " Loose your grasp and take my hand, 

I'll tell the child to-morrow we shall meet. 

Then you can shoot me in the nearest street, 

Or farther off, just as you like." " 'Tis well!" 

The words from those rough lips reluctant fell; 

And, half unclasped, the hands less fierce appear. 

The father says, "You see, we're all friends here, 

I'm going with these gentlemen to walk; 

Go home. Be good. I have no time to talk." 

The little fellow, reassured and gay. 

Kisses his father and then runs away. 

" Now he is gone, and we are at our ease, 

And you can kill me where and how you please," 

The father says: " Where is it I must go?" 

Then through the crowd a long thrill seems to flow, 

The lips, so late with cruel wrath a-foam, 

Relentingly and roughly cry: " Go home!" 



Sound is painting^ or it is nothing. It should be in affinity with the sub- 
ject.— 'D'El.AV^iOSn'E. 



268 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE BABY'S FIRST TOOTH. 



TV /TR. and Mrs. Jones had just finished their breakfast 
^^ Mr. Jones had pushed back his chair and was 
looking under the lounge for his boots. Mrs. Jones sat 
at the table, holding the infant Jones, and mechanically 
working her forefinger in its mouth. Suddenly she 
paused in the motion, threw the astonished child on its 
back, turned as white as a sheet, pried open its mouth, 
and immediately gasped, '* Ephraim! " Mr. Jones, who 
was yet on his knees with his head under the lounge, at 
once came forth, rapping his head sharply on the side 
of the lounge as he did so, and getting on his feet, in- 
quired what was the matter. 

"O Ephraim!" said she, the tears rolling down her 
cheeks and smiles coursing up. 

"Why, what is it, Aramathea?" said the astonished 
Mr. Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it had come 
in contact with the lounge. 

"Baby!" she gasped. Mr. Jones turned pale and the 
perspiration started. 

"Baby! O — O — O Ephraim! Baby has — baby has 
got — a little toothey, oh, oh! " 

"No! " screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs apart, 
dropping his chin, and staring at the struggling heir 
with all his might. 

" I tell you it is," persisted Mrs. Jones, with a slight 
evidence of hysteria. 

" Oh, it can't be! " protested Mr. Jones, preparing to 
swear if it wasn't. 

" Come here and see for yourself," said Mrs. Jones. 






A man considers an object with head raised when he considers it with a 
feeling of pride. It is thus that he rules them or exalts them, — Uelsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 269 

"Open its 'ittle mousy-wousy for its own muzzer; that's 
a toody-woody; that's a blessed 'ittle 'ump o' sugar." 

Thus conjured, the heir opened its mouth sufficiently 
for the father to thrust in his finger, and that gentle- 
man having convinced himself by the most unmistakable 
evidence that a tooth was there, immediately kicked 
his hat across the room, buried his fist in the lounge, and 
declared with much feeling that he should like to see the 
individual who w^ould dare to intimate that he was not 
the happiest man on the face of the earth. Then he 
gave Mrs. Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and 
snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed trem- 
blingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who lived next door. 

In a moment Mrs. Simmons came tearing in as if she 
had been shot out of a gun, and right behind her came 
Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated that she had 
been ejected from two guns. Mrs. Simmons at once 
snatched the heir from the arms of Mr. Jones and hur- 
ried it to the window, where she made a careful and 
critical examination of its mouth, while Mrs. Jones held 
its head, and Mr. Jones danced up and down the room 
and snapped his fingers to show how calm he was. 

•It having been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons that the 
tooth was a sound one, and also that the strongest 
hopes for its future could be entertained on account of 
its coming in the new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out 
the necessary materials, and Mr. Jones at once pro- 
ceeded to write seven different letters to as many per- 
sons, unfolding to them the event of the morning, and 
inviting them to come on as soon as possible, while the 
unconscious cause of the excitement, after viewing mat- 
ters calmly for a time, opened its mouth and took things 

A 



Man reveals his life through more than four millions of inflections ere he 
can speak or gesticulate.-- Dki^aumosi^e, 



2/0 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

into its own hands by remarking at first deprecatingly, 
and then with decided disapproval: " Ah-h-h-day-ay- 
goo-oo-oo-po-o-o \enei'getically\ gaa-ah-ah-ya-ya-ah-nga- 
ah! '* with which sentiments every parent agrees. 



THANKSGIVIN' PUMPKIN PIES. 



Margaret E. Sangster. 



CO you bid me to Thanksgivin' ! Thank you, neigh- 
*^ bor, it is kind, 

To keep a plain old body like myself so much in m.ind; 
Here I've been sittin* all alone, and a mist before my 

eyes, 
A-thinkin*, like a simpleton, of mother's pumpkin pies. 

Yes, Fve just come home from Sarah's; come home Tm 

glad to say; 
And here, God helping me, I mean in future time to 

stay; 
Oh! Sarah's folks are very fine, but I felt all at sea, 
And though the rooms were 'mazin* big, they seemed 

too small for me. 

The house is like a palace, and mine's a tiny nest, 

But, neighbor, I'm contented here, I like this place the 
best; 

Just as Sarah's creams and salads I don't know how to 
prize; 

Her French cook costs a fortune, but / favor home- 
made pies. 



j All arts are found in articulation. Sound is the articulation of the vocal 
I apparatus: gesture the articulation of the dynamic apparatus: language the 
articulation of the buccal apparatus. Therefore., music, the plastic arts, and 
I speech have their origin and their perfection in articulation.— "Dki^satctk. 
*^ 1 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 27 1 

Like mother's; flaky, rich and brown, and toothsome 

with the spice; 
I grew to loathe her dinners, cut in half with lemon ice: 
Give me good food, biled greens and pork, and turkey 

now and then; 
I tell you on our mountain fare weVe raised a race of 

men. 

Not spindlin' like them city folks, in dress-suits if you 

please. 
An' mincin' in their low-cut shoes, an' bowin' to their 

knees. 
I hate such silly airs; I like to hear a hearty word; 
No! Fm not deaf, but when one speaks, why, speak so's 

to be heard. 

In Sarah's house 'twas ^^ aunty this" and ^^ aunty that," 

until 
I saw I made a discord, let me do my best; 'an still 
I'm sure the child loves aunty, but, neighbor, she and I 
Are far apart and nohow could our ways again draw 

nigh. 

She wears her black silk every day, a-trailin' on the 

ground, 
Leastwise, a-trailin' on the floor; 'tis called, I b'lieve, 

tea-gowned. 
An' frills an' lace, 'an hot-house flowers; such waste, it 

worried me, 
Rememberin' Jotham Peckham's kin, as poor as poor 

could be. 

Rememberin' Jotham Peckham, I was vexed to see his 
child. 



Men of small brain habitually carry their heads high. The head is low- 
ered in proportion to the quantity of intelligence. — Delaumosne. 



272 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

A-throwin' money here and there; it made me fairly 

wild. 
Her house, it's just like Barnum's, with jimcracks every. 

where, 
When pa and me the children took to see the wonders 

there. 

How^ I run on! Well, thank you, neighbor; I see you 

want to go; 
I'm comin' to Thanksgivin'; your good old ways I 

know. 
An' my mouth waters, dear old friend, there's tears in 

these dim eyes. 
For I shall taste the flavor of mother's pumpkin pies. 

And though I'm 'most threescore and ten, an' cranky, 

I'm afraid. 
Once more I'll feel myself a child, my mother's little 

maid; 
And I'll be very pleased to help, in any way I can; 
Good-bye, dear, and my love to Ruth; a kiss to Mary 

Ann. 



OL^ PICKETT'S NELL. 



Mather D. Kimball. 



TIJ^EEL more 'an ever like a fool 

Sence Pickett's Nell come back from school. 
She oncet wuz twelve 'nd me eighteen 
'Nd better friends you never seen; 

But now — oh, my! 
She's dressed so fine, 'nd growed so tall, 
'Nd I'arnin' — she jes knows it all. 



j A hasty delivery is by no means proof of animation^ ivamith^ fire, passion^ 
or emotion in the orator; hence in delivery, as in tone, haste is in an inverse 
ratio to emotion. We do not glide lightly over a beloved subject; a prolonga- 

I tion of tone is the expression of love. — Delsarte. 

^ , 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 273 

She's eighteen now, but I'm so slow 
I'm whar I wuz six year ago. 

Six year! Waal, waal! doan't seem a week 
Sence we rode Dolly to th' creek, 
'Nd fetched th' cattle home at night. 
Her hangin' to my jacket tight. 

But now — oh, my! 
She rides in Pickett's new coopay 
Jes like she'd be'n brung up thet way, 
'Nd lookin' like a reg'lar queen — 
Th' mostest like I ever seen. 

She uster tease, 'nd tease, 'nd tease 
Me fer to take her on my knees; 
Then tired me out 'ith Marge'y Daw, 
'Nd laffin tell my throat wuz raw. 

But now — oh, my! 
She sets up this way — kinder proud, ^ 
'Nd never noways laughs out loud. 
You w'u'd n't hardly think thet she 
Hed ever see-sawed on my knee. 

'Nd sometimes, ef at noon I'd choose 
To find a shady place 'nd snooze, 
I'd wake with burdocks in my hair 
'Nd elderberries in my ear. 
But now— oh, my! 
Somebody said ('twuz yesterday): 
^* Let's hev some fun w'ile Ned's away; 
Let's turn his jacket inside out! " 
But Nell — she'd jes turn red 'nd pout. 



In a production of art whose subject and materials lie in the domain of un- 
reclaivted nature^ genius is not perinitted to falsify any fundamental prin- 
ciple or fact ^ but is free to modify and add. Otherwise., the creative func- 
tion of art is gone., and only imitation is left. — Rev. W. R. Alger. 



274 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'Nd oncet when I wuz dreamin*-like, 
A-throwin' akerns in th' dike, 
She put her arms clean round my head, 
'Nd whispered soft, *^ I like you, Ned;'* 

But now — oh, my! 
She courtesied so stiff 'nd grand, 
'Nd never oncet held out her hand, 
'Nd called me " Mister Edward! " Laws! 
Thet ain't my name, 'nd never wuz. 

'Nd them 'at knowed 'er years ago 
Jes laughed t' see 'er put on so; 
Coz it wuz often talked, 'nd said, 
" Nell Pickett's jes cut out fer Ned." 

But now — oh, my! 
She held her purty head so high, 
'Nd skasely saw me goin' by — 
I w'u'd n't dast (afore last night) 
A-purposely come near her sight. 

Last night, ez I was startin' out 
To git th' cows, I heerd a shout; 
'Nd, sure ez ghostses, she wuz thar, 
A-settin' on ol' Pickett's mar'; 

'Nd then — oh, my! 
She said she 'd cried fer all th' week 
To take th' ol' ride to th' creek; 
Then talked about ol' times, 'nd said, 
^* Them days wuz happy, wa'n't they, Ned? " 

Th' folks wuz talkin' ev'rywhars 
'Bout her a-puttin' on sech airs, 
'Nd seemed t' me like they wuz right. 
Afore th' cows come home last night. 
But now — oh, my! 



The speaker or singer should knoijo J^ow to diminish tone without contract- 
ing the back part of the jnouth. — Delsart^s:. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 275 

JIMMY BROWN'S DOG. 



William L. Alden. Arranged by Elsie M. Wilbor. 



1\ /JR. TRAVERS had told me mornamillion times 
^^ ^ that, after he should be married to Sue, I was to 
come to live with him. Sue heard him say it lots of 
times, for I remember she always used to say, ^^ Pshaw! 
don't be perfectly ridiculous; Fd like to catch myself 
living within a hundred miles of that boy after I leave 
this house." So it was all perfectly understood; and I 
never dreamed for a minute that Mr. Travers wasn't in 
earnest, and I was surprised that they did not ask me 
to go with them the day they were married. 

A few weeks after the wedding, father made all his 
arrangements for going to Europe, and I was to go and 
stay with Mr. Travers for a year, and go to school. Mr. 
Travers wrote that, " I will meet your son at the station 
next Tuesday and take charge of him while you are 
gone, though I will not answer for the consequences, as 
Susan is in a nervous state, and I do not think her sys- 
tem requires boys." I copied this from his letter, be- 
cause I wanted to ask him what he meant by the ^^con- 
sequences," but I forgot to do it. 

The day before father and mother started I was sent 
to Mr. Travers's with a trunk of my own, and a beautiful 
young bull-dog that was given me for a parting present. 
The dog was in a box with holes in it, and he growled 
elegantly every time anybody touched the box. I took 
him out as soon as the train started, and the first thing 
he did was to take a splendid big piece out of the leg 
of my trousers. Then he sat up on the seat and growled 
till the conductor came along and said, ^' Boy, whose 

r The legs have their ga7nuts rangiiig frojn repose out into extreme evtotions. | 

The trunk contains the grand central tones of the vian. The arms are varied 

in their expression frojn the expansiveness of vitality to the contractibility of\ 

I thought. — Franklin H. Sargent. | 

4, , 1^ 



2j6 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

dog is that? No dogs allowed here. You must put 
him back into that box, and be quick about it. Tickets, 
gentlemen." But I told him that I didn't think that 
the dog wanted to go back, and I was afraid it would 
make trouble if anybody tried to make him change his 
mind. The conductor said he didn't care what the dog 
wanted, but that he was going back into that box inside 
of three seconds, or he'd know the reason why. So he 
tried to take him by the neck, but the dog was too quick 
for him, and after taking a little piece out of his hand, 
hid under the seat. The conductor called a brakeman, 
and the two began to hunt the dog. 

If the dog had kept quiet, they wouldn't have found 
him; but he was a little angry at the way he was treated, 
and I don't blame him, for nobody likes to be poked 
with sticks, and told to ^^ come here, you brute " and 
*^ get out of there now, will you." So every little while 
he would take hold of somebody's leg, and you would 
hear a dreadful yell, and would know just where the 
dog was; but by the time the conductor and the brake- 
man got there, the dog would have got through with 
that particular leg, and would be in another part of the 
car selecting another leg. 

When we arrived at our station the dog let me carry 
him. The passengers growled more than the dog did, 
and some of those who had been bitten said that I ought 
to be killed; but I never pay much attention to what 
angry people say, they are so unreasonable. Mr. Travers 
met me at the station, and said, "Oh! it's you, is it?" 
This wasn't a very nice welcome, but I didn't mind that, 
for presently he said, " That dog looks sick, Jimmy. 
We'll stop in at the apothecary's and get a dose of medi- 



The acojistic organs should have nothing to do with the transmission of 
sound. They uiust be passive so that the tone may be continuous and smooth. 
— Dels ARTE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 277 

cine for him.'* This was just kind as it could be. The 
dog was pretty sick, though I hadn't noticed it, for he 
died that night. When we went into the apothecary's, 
Mr. Travers said to the young man behind the counter, 
" William, I think this dog is in a pretty bad way. He 
looks pale. Don't you think that a little strychnine 
would do him good?" The young man said, ^* Yes, 
strychnine is a beautiful medicine for that kind of a 
dog." So he gave Mr. Travers a powder. I said to Mr. 
Travers that if the medicine was real good I should like 
to take some, but he said, "Jimmy, I am sure it would 
do you and your friends all the good in the world, and 
nothing would make me happier than to give the whole 
of it to you; but it's against the law for me to give 
medicine to anybody, and you must promise me never 
to taste the least bit of this kind of medicine while 
you're here." Sue. was glad to see me, and said, ** So 
they did send you after all. I think it's so mean for 
parents to send their children away from home; there, 
don't kiss me, I've just put up my hair." 

After supper, Mr. Travers told me to run out to the 
barn and see the horses and cows. There were four 
horses, and two of them were all white. Indeed, they 
were a great deal paler than my dog, so I knew they 
must be ill. Then there was a large, pale cat, that had 
longer hair than any cat I ever saw. She looked as if 
she was more ill than the horses. One of the cows kept 
lowing in a way that made me feel sure that she had a 
dreadful pain, and I wished that I had some of Mr. 
Travers's medicine to give the poor, sick animals. 

By and by Mr. Travers came out into the backyard 
with a piece of meat and the paper of medicine, and I 



A fact of negation in a sentence does not^ as a rule^ change the emphasis. — 
I Lewis B. Monroe. 



278 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

said, " Mr. Travers, won't you let me give some medicine 
to the horses and cows, I'm sure they don't feel well;" 
but he said, " I'm afraid, my young friend, that you are 
almost too bright to live long." Just then Sue called 
him, and he left the meat and the medicine on the bench. 
He had sprinkled a little of the medicine on the meat, 
and as I noticed the cat smelling the meat, I was on the 
point of giving her a piece of it, when I remembered 
that I had no right to interfere with Mr. Travers's own 
animals, so I just walked away. When I came back, I 
found that the cat and dog had eaten the meat between 
them, and one of the cows was smelling the rest of the 
medicine. I drove her away, but not until she had taken 
a good taste of it. 

I wrapped up what was left, and took it to Mr. 
Travers. He turned pale, and said, " You young rascal, 
you haven't taken any of that stuff, have you ?" and I 
said," No, sir; I promised you I wouldn't, but the dog has 
been eating the meat." I was going to tell him about 
the cat and cow, but he laughed, and told me to run 
down to the village and bring him the letters. When 
I got home it was time to go to bed, and I was told that 
I couldn't see my dog that night for he was asleep, and 
it might injure him to wake him up after taking 
medicine. 

The next morning when we were at breakfast the 
coachman came in and said, " If you please, Mr. Travers, 
the new dog is pizined." 

"What do you mean ?" exclaimed Mr. Travers; " is he 
really hurt ?" 

" Yis, sorr," said the man; " he's hurt pretty bad. To 
tell you the truth, sorr, they're both dead." 



The vocal tube must not vary any vtore for the loud tone than for the low 
tone. The opening -must be the same. The low tone must have the power of 
the loud tone^ since it is to be equally understood. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



279 



" What on earth are you talking about ?" said Mr. 
Travers. 

" The dog and the Angora cat, sorr; the pair of them 
is both very near entirely dead," replied the coachman, 
"and the Alderney cow doesn't seem to be altogether 
livin' this mornin'." 

Mr. Travers didn't wait to hear any more, but seized 
his hat, and started for the barn. I went too. I found 
my dear dog lying dead. Between the dog and the 
barn was the cat, and she was as dead as he was. I saw 
Mr. Travers looking as if he wanted to kill a few people 
to keep the animals company. I said, "Mr. Travers! I 
know who has poisoned all the animals; it was that 
young man in the apothecary's shop." 

"What do you mean by that, Jimmy ?" asked Mn 
Travers, very savagely. "I mean, sir," said I, " that he 
must have given you poison instead of medicine, for my 
dog took it and now he's dead, and I saw the cat and 
the Alderney cow taste it, and they're dead." Mr. Trav- 
ers took me by the collar and dragged me up to my 
room and locked the door without saying a word. 

Now I acknowledge that I did wrong in not letting Mr. 
Travers know that the cow and the cat had taken the 
medicine, but that was all I did. It was just forgetful- 
ness, and that isn't so dreadfully bad. I never had the 
least idea that the medicine would do any harm, and 1 
should have taken a little myself if Mr. Travers had not 
made me promise not to do so. I think that he ought to 
have looked at it as I did, and blamed nobody but the 
young man at the apothecary's shop, who, instead of 
giving him strychnine, must have given him something 
poisonous; but, instead of doing this, Mr. Travers gave 
Hh ^ 

IThe harmonic law ofrkythnt is: Cooperative 7novejnents in opposition ivill 
he in their velocity in the exact ratio of the length of the radii of the agents 
moving. — Steele Mackaye. 
, , ^ ^4. 



280 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



me a terrible scolding, and said I was a young Cain, and 
kept me shut up in my room for three days, and gave 
me nothing but bread and water. This was the begin- 
ning of coolness between us, for I resolved that I would 
not overlook such conduct, unless he should ask me to 
forgive him. 

But we will say no more of this painful subject, for I 
. don't like to think of those poor animals cut off in their 
prime, and without any time for reflection. I suppose 
the dog is better off now than v/hen he was alive, for he 
was a sweet, good animal; but I don^t think that cats 
have a good time after they are gone, for they are cruel 
and wicked, except when they're little. 



^^ 



THE ROMANCE OF A YEAR. 



Mrs. John Sherwood. 



Spring, 
TT OW gracefully the young Bertine 
With Jaques, her lover, dances; 
Bee how like sunbeams 'neath the trees 

She flies, and then advances; 
And yet she sings in a minor key 
The old Provengal melody, 
" TazS'toi, nion cceur! Adieu, mo?i cceurT 
As if some sadness came to her 

With love's dear smiles and glances. 



/< f^s through the "loice ivf please nn audience. 1/ we have the ear of an 
auditor^ we easily win his wind and heart. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 281 

The Sieur de Courcy comes that way 

And 'neath the walnut lingers, 
He marks her instep clean and high, 

Her white and dainty fingers; 
He hears her sing in a minor key 
The old Provengal melody, 

" Tais-toi^ mon coeur! Adieu^ mon coeurT \ 

And thinks, as he fondly looks at her. 

Of the lays of the Minnesingers. 

But hark, the call! the conscript drum! 

And Jaques, the number chosen; 
No wonder that Bertine is dumb. 

The blood in her bosom frozen. 
Brave Jaques strikes up in a stronger key 
The old Provengal melody, 
** TatS'toiy mon coeur! Adieu^ mon coeurT 
And looking fondly back at her, 

He said, "Dear love, be true to me.'* 

Summer, 

The king said gaily, " Je m'ennuie," 

Nor heard if the people grumbled; 
What cared that gallant majesty 

If some plain lives were humbled? 
The next age sang in a different key, 
" Tats-toij mon coeur! Adieu^ mon coeur!** 
Of Pompadour and the Pare aux Cerfs, 
And greeted the great with a bitter laugh 

When heads in the basket tumbled. 



The voice should resemble the painter's palette^ where all the colors are ar- 
ranged in an orderly manner^ according to the affinities of each. — Delau- 

MOSNE. 



282 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

For when the sun lay on the vines 

Bertine the grapes was tying, 
The tendril round her brow entwines, 

The summer days were flying! 
Well may she sing in a minor key 
The old Provengal melody, 
" Tais-toi^ mon coeiir! Adieu, mon cceurf* 
For the news was coming back to her 
Of the field where Jaques lay dying. 

What, then, was history but a page 

Of romance, love and glory? 
Chimeras of the golden age 

When life was worth the story! 
Woman still sings in the minor key 
The old Provencal melody, 
*^ Tais-toi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon coeurT 
That is the tale time tells to her. 
And will till he is hoary, 

Autumii. 

The Sieur de Courcy came to woo, 

His voice was low and tender; 
He drove the wolf and the king away — 

" Let me be thy defender!'* 
And when she sang in a minor key 
The old Provengal melody, 
** Tais-ioi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon coeurT 
The gentleman knelt down to her 
And kissed her fingers slender. 



The ear is the most delicate^ the most exacting of all our senses. The eye is 
far more tolerant. The eye may tolerate a had gesture^ but the ear will not 
forgive a false note or a false inflection. — Delsarte. 

. ^ ___ ^ 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 283 

"Who is my rival?" laughed the king, 

His gallant gray eyes lighting; 
" Now, I will do a graceful thing! 

To show I bear her slighting! 
We'll change that mournful monody. 
The old Provengal melody, 
" Tais-toi^ mon cceur! Adieu, mon cceurT* 
And life shall not be spoiled for her 

Because my love is blighting!" 

So went he forth to take the air. 

His perfumed locks were streaming, 
His brow was gay, as if no care 

Could blight that face so beaming. 
He sang, as he rode, in a minor key, 
The old Provencal melody, 
" Tais'toi, mon coeur! Adieu, mon coeurT 
But took the road that led to her — 
The courtiers guessed his seeming. 

" I came," said he, as they bent the knee, 

" All doubts and cares to banish; 
Leave chains of rank and cares of state — 

For one day — let them vanish! 
And, dear Bertine, sing now for me 
The old Provencal melody, 
* Tais-toi, mon cxur! Adieu, 7non coeur f 
And then he lightly told to her 

A drama from the Spanish. 

"Rise! my proud subject," said the king, 
" Rise! Marquis St. Aulare! 

I The Delsarte Systetn teaches us the philosophy and science for the infusio7i\ 
0/ the -tnuscular tissues with the rhythmic pulses of the soul: it unfolds the 
method for the stimulation of the organism ivith spiritual e^iergy. — Mrs. 

I Edna Snell Poulson, | 

4, — ^ 



284 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



I give the title and the ring 

To this thy consort fair. 
Now all my courtiers sound the key 
Of the old Provengal melody, 
* Tais'tot, mon coeur! Adieu, mon cceurf 
The king gave Courcy's hand to her, 

Who lover-like advances. 

Winter, 

O'er castle wall, with banners hung, 

The crescent moon is creeping, 
And on the ground, in sadness flung, 

A mournful man is weeping. 
On a white cross — what words to see! — 
He reads the sad old monody, 
** Tais-toi, mon cceur! Adieu, mon coeur T 
He breathes his last farewell to her, 
For there Bertine lies, sleeping. 



-^ Tit. 



Tais - toi, mon coeur! A - aieu,mon coeur ! 



I 



l± 



P— i=r=i=5=i=i^=i=* 



rit^ 



m 



^ 



s 



lite 



-iSh- 



-=^ 

-s^-. 



#. 



The voice first manifests itself through sound; infection is an intentional 
modification of sound; respiratio7i and silence are a means of exactly finding 
the suitable tone and inflection. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 285 

JOHN SPICER ON CLOTHES. 



Mrs. Abi]y Morton Diaz. 



T T is very good fun to take off your clothes and go in 
swimming. Clothes are the things that you wear. 
They have arms and legs to them, and ever so many 
buttonholes and buttons, and have pockets. Pockets 
are the best part of your clothes. We have two kinds 
of clothes, best ones and old ones. We hang up the 
best ones and wear the old ones. When you wear your 
best ones every day you most always get something on 
them. Once I hitched the picket of a picket-fence into 
the leg of some best clothes and pitched overhead first, 
and the picket went through, and then I had to take 
that pair for every-day ones. Gudgeon grease that you 
get off of wheels willnot come off very well. I do not 
mean it will not come off the wheels very well, but off 
your clothes. Ink spots stay on, but you can get paint 
off, if you can get anything to take it off with. Mud 
brushes off when it gets dry, and your mother doesn't 
say anything when vou get mud on your every-day ones, 
but she does on your best ones. 

One time when I was a little fellow, when I was going 
to a party with two little fellows about as big as I was, 
and we had on our best clothes, we climbed up a tree to 
see if some birds' eggs had hatched out, and a dry twig 
on a branch tore a hole on one side of one of my trousers' 
legs, and T did not want to go back home because that 
pair was ail the best pair of trousers I had. A big fel- 
low — he was not very big, but he was bigger than we 
little fellows — he told me to go to the party and keep 
my hand down over the hole, and I did, and somebody 



Gesture is harmonic through the multiplicity of the agents that act in the 
sajne manner. This harm.ony is founded upon the convergence or opposition 
of the movements. — Delaumosne. 



286 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

that was at the party asked me if my arm was lame, and I 
said, "No, ma'am; " but when the ice-cream came round, 
I forgot and took away my hand to take the saucer in 
it, and that same one looked at it, and laughed some^ 
and she said: " Oh, now I see what the matter was with 
your arm! " and I laughed a little when she did, and 
she told me not to think any more about the hole then, 
but to have a good time and to think about the hole 
afterward, and I did. She told me a funny story about 
a hole that was torn. I will tell it: " Once there was a 
very small boy named Gussie, and he tore his clothes 
most every day, and his mother had mended them after 
he had gone to bed and he did not see her do it, and he 
thought the holes grew up of themselves in the night. 
And one day when his little cousin Susie tore her dress 
her mother told her not to tear, and cried, Gussie told 
her not to cry, for that hole would grow up again in the 
night, just as holes did in his clothes. And when Susie 
went to bed she put her dress over a chair to have the 
holes grow up, and first thing in the morning she went 
in her night-gown to look, and her mother found her 
standing there crying, and when her mother asked her 
what she was crying for, she said, * Because that hole 
did not grow together in the night. I thought it would 
grow up in the night.' " 

Once I had some mittens put away in some winter 
clothes. Mittens are clothes to wear on your hands, and 
hats are clothes to wear on your head. Once my aunt 
told me a hat riddle. I will say it: 
" Two poor little brothers they had but one hat. 
And both wore the same one, can you guess how was 
that? 



The pebble contains the sparky but ive must know how to produce it. The \ 
phenomena of nature contain lessons, but we must know how to make them 
speak, and how to understand their language. — Delsarte. I 

^ ^ 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 287 

Each boy had a head? Oh, yes! each had a head! 

And both heads had one hat on, as just has been said. 

Did one boy stay in? No, nothing like that! 

Both went out together, and both wore the hat. 

ril tell you the answer. The hat was of straw, 

As old an old hat, sir, as ever you saw; 

It was torn round about, just under the band. 

And left in two parts; do you quite understand? 

And when these small brothers walked forth in the town 

Why, one wore the rim and the other the crown!" 



THE SHADOW OF A SONG. 



Campbell Rae- Brown. 



[The speaker is supposed to be alone in a room in his ancestral 
home, the last of his race. Since he had left, just a year ago, this same 
room, which was connected with the greatest sorrow of his life, had 
never been used, but had remained exactly as it was on that never-to- 
be-forgotten night. As the speaker enters, he looks round the apart- 
ment with a strange, half-startled air, shivers slightly, and seems al- 
most to be expecting some one to appear. With a dazed, dreamy look 
on his face, he seats himself on a sofa. Then he pauses, seeming lost 
in thought.— Music has been composed specially for this recitation, and 
can be obtained of the publisher of this book.] 

VTES, it is just one year ago to-night, 

^ , And through my brain there tingles into life 
The self-same forms — the faces and the sound 
Of voices that I knew in those glad days — 
That seemed no longer than do minutes now, 
They were so full of joy, those old, dead hours. 
But I let a trifle leap into a thought. 
And grow and grow till it was past reclaim; 



No theory of the\ passions or 7nere inechanical drill in their expression can I 
ever teach a man to be pathetic. Only a disagreeable 7nockery of it can thus 
covie. Pathos is the one particular affection that knoivs no deceit^ but comes 
in truth direct from the soul^ a7id goes direct to the soul. — Rev. W. R. Alger. 

^ ^ 



288 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

I slipped it then as sportsmen slip their dogs, \ 

And coupled with it madness for its mate. 

They ran abreast as Jealousy and Pique 

Set on to chase my love down to its death. 

I steeped my brain in wretched, jealous dreams. 

When I awoke I called myself a cur! 

\_Slight pause. His voice trembles as he goes on."] 
But she had gone — this woman that I loved — 
I see that poor face now, drawn at the brows; 
Pain, like a vise, had crushed her to the quick. 
And yet amid that world of quivering woe. 
Two steady stars shone out — those calm gray eyes, 
Two planets, pure and passionless, that mocked 
The lurid fierceness of mine own mad heat. 
And thus we parted — heaven! when I think 
That in a month I would have called her wife! 
How hard it seems a man's whole life should be 
O'er-shadowed by a song/ 

Aye, it had been 
A love-dirge that her wondrous voice had sent 
From out the silver portals of her throat. 
As though 't had been a prayer so glorified 
*Twould pierce its way on through the gates of heaven. 
I slew my peace by bringing into life 
Some dearer rival in her love to me; 
I conjured up the ghost of some one gone — 
Some dead love that she held communion with. 
Through the sweet channel of a trembling song. 
I'd often come and sit to hear her sing, but once 
I stole with silent step to where she played. 
Dazzled by the radiance of the light 



JVe must retroact to see an object as a whole .—'D's.'LSh.^T'e.. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 289 

The strong young moon had flung across her face, 

She did not see me. 

And while each pulse throbbed out its troublous tale, 

I stood and watched, and while I watched — I wronged! 

I crept so near in my intent to find 

Her deepest secret mirrored in her face, 

That her soft breath disturbed the straying threads 

My nervous hands had singled from my hair. 

I listened while the voice climbed to the clouds, 

On melody that seemed to float through tears. 

In words that fell amid a sea of sobs. 

I heard, I saw the upturned, straining eyes. 

The dreamy sorrow dwelling on the lips. 

" She sings," I said, ^* to some dead love of yore! 

She has been fooling me who gave her all — 

My life! my soul! and, while she smiled on me. 

Has worshipped at the shrine of some dead past.'* 

I strode from out the shadows to her side; 

I wrenched the slender fingers from the keys; 

And drowned her tones that^ as they sudden stopped, 

Must e'en have made the spellbound angels weep. 

She did not speak— but rose serene and grand. 

And listened. 

Aye! Though I left behind each word a wound 

That tore into her womanhood — all dumb 

She stood, while wonder wandered through her eyes. 

And then she turned and left me in the night. 

Then in my heart hope heaved its dying sigh. 

And with its death my love leaped back to life. 

I put my hands in pleading out to her; 

I called her by the sweetest names I knew; 

On bended knee I asked her to forgive; 

4, ^ 



The head is always in opposition to the arms^ and must be turned away 
\/rom the leg, which is advanced. — Delaumosne. 



290 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And bit my lips till I had brought the blood, 
Because they'd shaped the words Fd said to her. 
She heard me; and she came back once again, 
She spoke to me, quite calmly, not to chide. 
But sadly, as a bird whose mate is dead 
Will tell its tale of sorrow to the wind; 
She gazed at me as one she did not know. 
And talked of me as some one far away. 
Then looking upward with a cry of pain: 
*^ That song I may not sing you now," she said; 
" Ah! my poor brother, you must wait for me. 
And when I'm coming — so that you may know — 
Once more Til sing it— Just before I die'' 
" Brother!" A sudden mem'ry like a blow 
Struck on my senses as though in reproof. 
It all came back to me, the tale Fd heard; 
The pathos of it; her twin brother, blind. 
And she had tended him with marvelous love; 
He'd leaned alone on her until he died. 
I prayed to her for pity's sake to hear! 
I raised my eyes to hers — I met her gaze — 
That look! It held the history of two hopes — 
The wreck and ruin of two loves, two lives! 
I wept as men weep once. It was too late! 
She passed from sight — I never saw her more. 
But ever after, haunting every hour. 
Each minute, whatsoever path I take. 
That cry has followed me o'er all the world: 
" Once more Til sing it — Just before I die!" 

[ The speaker here patcses — musings and looking round with 
a sort of shiver^ and the satne strange^ startled look in his 
face as before?^ 



A retrograde movement may be the sign of reverence and salutation^ and a 
token that the object before ivhich it is produced is eminent and worthy of ven- 
eration.— Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 29 1 

One year ago — aye, just one year to-night! 

S^Suddenly^ after a short pause ^ the melody of the we lire- 
membered song strikes upon his ear. Then the words are sung 
in low, wailing voice; meanwhile, his attention is chained as 
though by an overpowering awe. His face becoines pallid and 
haggard, as the song goes on,] 

" Though we are parted now, parted for aye, 

Yet may I be with you still, 

And as day meets the moonlight, and the sun meets the 

sea. 
We may meet here, and I, I sing to thee, 
Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 
Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 

I know that my message will reach you to-night. 

For the sky is so peaceful, and clear, and so bright. 

Pathways of light lie between you and me. 

No clouds, love, to keep back my words, dear, from thee, 

As I sing to thee here, 

O my darling, to thee, O my darling, to thee, to thee. 

Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee. 

Sing to thee, call to thee, speak, dear, to thee." 

[He rises as song goes on, but staggers, as he looks toward 
the piano with a wild stare. Then, in a hoarse whisper:] 

What, what is that? the song! and 't is her voice — 
Her touch upon the keys! God! She is there! 
Yes, yes, I'll call to her, aye, I will go and speak. 
But no; I cannot. Ah, she's going now! 

[ These last four lines should be so timed that they end si- 
multaneously with the song. They should, therefore, be begun 
somewhere in the second stanza of the song. He then goes 
toward the piano as ihoiLgh folloiving some one.] 



All life is Primarily motion. Time accompanies each birth of motion^ and 
consequent birth of form, in death of motion. — Franklin H. Sargent, 



292 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

My love, my love! come back — my heart — she's gone! 

\^Buries his head in his hands^ 
Aye; I remember now; " I'll sing," she said, 
^' The song once more, just — just before I die." 
The world is at an end — for she is dead! 



THE STATELY MINUET. 



Hezekiah Butterworth. 



Subject: The Reception of Prince Eugene. 

[This recitation can be made more elaborate and very effective by- 
having the various persons spoken of in the poem appear as silhouettes, 
dressed in the fashion of that period. The long curled wig or cue tied 
with ribbon, the knee-breeches, the slippers with buckles for the men, 
and the pompadour puffed hair and full-skirted gowns for the women 
will readily suggest themselves. As silhouette pictures the costumes 
can be made of cambric and other cheap materials. The shadow pan- 
tomime of a minuet being danced will be very attractive as well as 
novel. If desired, more elegant costumes can be arranged, and the 
different people appear on the stage as they are announced, dancing the 
minuet during the reading. This is an excellent entertainment for a 
school. — Editor.] 

/^H, fine old times were those, I ween, 

In the eye of the courtly Englishman, 
When came to London Prince Eugene 

To meet the lords of good Queen Anne. 
In the halls of state the minstrels gay 

Played sweet, on tapestries of gold 
How, well-a-day? — Oh, well-a-day, 

In those arrased halls of old! 



In art one must love somethi7tg beside art if one would know how to love 
art. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



293 



The halls were for the banquet dressed, 

The astrals blazed, and waited there 
The victor for the coming guests, 

The knights and ladies debonair. 
'Twas Prince Eugene, of Blenheim's fame, 

Who fought with Marlborough side by side, 
Who France had awed, and Lille had ta'en 

And spoiled the Palgraves in their pride. 
Eugene, of half a score of wars, 
Eugene, who won a hundred stars! 

The guests are in the outer halls, 

Them waits the wifeless Prince Eugene, 

"The duchess!" loud the herald calls; 
The duchess came, a fallen queen. 

Minuet. \^The Sahctation Music] 




My best results ka7>e been attained when /, a Passive subject, obeyed an inner 
inspiration coining from whence I know not, and urging me on to results I 
had not aimed at. — Genevieve Stebbins, 



*- 



294 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



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Then rose the stately minuet, 

The soul of every courtly scene, 
Her slippered feet it led, and yet 

A heavy heart they bore, I ween; 
Two silver pages bore her train: 
She bowed, and slowly bowed again. 

[Imitate the entrance of guests after the stanza to the music 
of the minuet^ bowing with the rise and fall of the music as 
the salutation music suggests. The music may be played over 
as many times as is necessary for the pant ofnime imitation^ 

'' Sir Robert Walpole !" loudly calls 

The fine old herald, bowing low. 
The expectant music fills the halls 

As comes the knight, sedate and slow. 
A form of velvet starred with gold, 

And noiseless step; he bows, and then 
The duchess' eye severe and cold 



To love art for art is to prefer the work to its object: ii is to turn art from 
its end to the profit of the artist. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 29S 

Falls on him, and he bows again, 
And warmer now the astrals glow. 
And sweeter music's numbers flow. 
\Imitation to 7?ii?itiet. The introductory salutation music ?^ 

"My Lord and Lady Castlewood!" 

"Lord Rochester!" rang through the hall; 
And while confused the herald stood 

Swept in the bishops grave and tall. 
And while played sweet the minuet, 

Gibraltar's hardy sea-kings came, 
And knights from Oudenarde, and yet 

Rolled on the herald's call of fame 
Till in the dusk and music sweet 
The hall was full of golden feet. 
\Iinitation to minuet. The introductory salutatioii music ^ 

" Sir Isaac Newton!" Silent all, 

Not e'en the light of jewels swayed, 
A modest form shrank through the hall. 

Modest, yet one the stars had weighed. 
"Dean Swift!" the nimble parson came, 

" Daniel de Foe !" his ears were gone. 
The herald lost the last great name, 

Powdered, bewigged, came iVddison, 
And low they bowed like courtiers gay, 
And bowed the prince as low as they. 

\I7nitaticn as before. Music ceases?^ 

Why comes the prince to England now. 
This son of France, old Austria's pride ? 

And why do whig and tory bow 
To him, the duchess at his side ? 



The mere bearings and poisings of the body szuay the beholder,, even when pro- 
duced viechanically, — Franklin H. Sargent. 



296 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



Earth has no friendships such as those 
Grand heroes form for noble ends; 

His soul had flamed as Marlborough rose, 
And war had wedded them as friends. 








You admire a work of art when you find yourself in it; aiidif you ap- 
\plaud, it is only on the condition of your recognizing in it something of your 
I own character. It is because it affects, at least partly, your ways, your tem- 
\perament. In a word, you love it as you love a mirror. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 



297 




And Marlborough, crushed by court and queen, 
Had touched the heart of Prince Eugene. 

"Lord Harley!'* All again was mute, 

The diplomat flashed 'crost the scene. 
And said obsequious, " I salute \7ninuet\ 

Earth's greatest soldier. Prince Eugene !" 
" Too soon, my lord! His grace comes late,'* 

The prince replied, and turned away, 
"The duke of Marlborough!" lost to state, 

Then came the chief of Malplaquet, 
Who once had swayed the lands and seas, 
From Pyrenees to Tyrolese. 

\Imitation as before^ 

The music scarcely dared to play; 

The fallen hero of the land 
Moved slowly 'mid the throngs to lay 

In Prince Eugene's his war-browned hand. 



Only throiigh rules can we become free in our interpretation. — Delaumosne, 



298 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Not so, — the true heart knows its quest 

And love is strong when true hearts meet, 
Against the honored soldier's breast 

The starless soldier's heart should beat, 
And Prince Eugene great Marlborough drew 
To his great heart still beating true. 

\^Repeat salutation music ^ 

The mazy music's rippling tide 

Swept o'er the shoals of jewelled feet, 
But Prince Eugene by Marlborough's side 

Scarce heard the mystic rhythms beat; 
The airy pages came and went, 

In blazing halls the goblets kissed, 
He shared that nobler sentiment 

To true hearts known, by maskers missed. 
The heroic friendship more than wealth. 
That loves another more than self. 

Cool fell the dews, the late hours came. 

And rose the moon, a midnight sun. 
Uncertain shone the astral's flame. 

And guests departed one by one. 
With lingering step they went away. 

The lord, the knight, the wit, the beau. 
Still happy in the morning gray, 

And bowing low, and bowing low. 
In memory's ear recalling yet. 
The sweet and stately minuet. [Imitation."] 

Oh, fine old times were those, I ween, 

In the eye of the courtly Englishman, 
When came to London Prince Eugene 



Man z's a voluntary spectator of his own works only. It is because he esteetns 
and admires onlyjiijuself. It is because he searches fot himseiy in every- 
thing. — Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 299 

To plead for Marlborough with Queen Anne, 
In the halls of state the minstrels gay 

Played sweet, on tapestries of gold, 
How, well-a-day ? — Ah, well-a-day, 

In the arrased halls of old! 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 



Jessie F. O'Donnell. 



["When, after the battle of Belmont, General Grant, under a flag 
of truce, sent a detachment to bury the dead and remove the wounded, 
they heard the song of ' The Star-Spangled Banner' rising on the still 
air. Following the sound, they discovered under a tree a warrior with 
both legs mangled, from w^hose feverish lips the national anthem rang 
out over the gory plain." — Headleys Life of Grant. — The music of 
" The Star-Spangled Banner " should be played during the italic lines, 
and these lines sung, if possible.] 

/^VER the field the grass is red 
^"^^ With loyal blood of our Union dead; 
The wounded lie a sickening sight, 
And cold, white faces mock the light. 
Yesterday there was fire and shout, 
Yesterday bullets whizzed about. 
Cannons boomed, and sabres clashed. 
And hate from the eyes of soldiers flashed. 

Only the moan of pain to-day 

Breaks through the morning still and gray; 

The bullets are cold, the guns at rest. 

And the soldier dead on his foeman's breast 

Once we were eager to deal out death; 
Now we woo back the failing breath; 



The whole secret of expression lies in the time we delay the articulation of\ 
the initial consonant. The delay arrests the attention^ and prevents our | 
catching the sound at a disadvantage.— DR-L/^VMOSyiK. 



300 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And the earth dark-stained with blood of the brave . 
Forgiving, offers a peaceful grave. 

Up from the field where the wounded lie, 
Broken and faint as a spirit-sigh, 
Snatches of song fall soft on the ear, 
A familiar strain to the soldiers dear. 

YSing?\ 
" ' Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh^ long may it wave *' — 
It reaches our hearts like a voice from the grave; 
We gaze at each other in wordless amaze, 
Who raises that hymn of a patriot's praise? 

Here where death-wagons groan as they pass? 
Here where the wounded lie thick in the grass? 
Once more we bend o'er the suffering men, 
But sweeter and clearer it rises again. 

Triumphant it swells to a volume of might. 

\_Sing?[ 
'^ Oh, say, ean you see by the daitm's early light, 
What so protcdly we hailed at the twilight's lastgleamingV^- 
Then sinks to the murmur of music in dreaming. 

Our hearts grow warm, and our pulses bound. 
As over the field we follow the sound. 
Over the grass that is trampled and torn. 
Through the chilly light of the early morn; 
While ever, to guide us, rings out on the air 
That outburst of joy that ^^ our flag is still there/' 
Then we pause, for against the rough trunk of a tree 
Leans the soldier who sings of " the land of *the free." 



Rhythm is that which asserts; it is the form of movement. Melody is that 
which distinguishes. Harmony is that which conjoins. — Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 301 

Wounded, but warrior-like, he lies; 
Death-pale, but with a hero's eyes; 
His burning lips breathe not of pain. 
But send a song across the plain: 

" Oh^ say, can you see by the dawn's early lights 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilighfs last gleammg? 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous 
fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming! 
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting i?t air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag zvas still there; 
Oh, say, does that star-spa7igled banner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 

^' On that shore, dimly seen throtcgh the mists of the deep. 
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, 
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep. 

As it fitfully blows, ?iow conceals, now discloses? 
Now it catches the gleam of the morning'' s first beam. 
In full glory reflected, now shines 07i the stream; 
' Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may it zuave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!" 

With tears unused to the eyes of men, 

We carry him back to the camp again; 

But still, through the blood-veined field, that song 

Rings out in music sweet and strong: 

^Sing.'l 

" Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our 7notto, * l7i God is our trust;' 
And the star-spangled ba7i7ier in triu77iph shall wave 
O'er the la7id of the free and the hv77ie of the brave J* 



302 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE WISH-BONE. 



Leon Mead. 



THEY were dining — he and she, 
Chattering incessantly — 
"When the waiter, old and tried, 
Brought them chicken nicely fried. 
Grand it was to see her wade 

Thro' her portion with white teeth ; 
Teeth that cut it like a blade, 
To the wish-bone underneath. 

Then, when it was free of meat. 
She in accents soft and sweet, 
Whispered, " Make a wish with me." 
'' Certainly I will," said he. 
Both a moment silent thought. 
Then he on the wish-bone caught. 
Now the tug of war began 
'Tween the damsel and the man. 
Till at last it snapped in twain — 
She had won it, that was plain. 

*'Tell me what you wished," said she. 

' ' That you might my darling be ; 

Thro' all sorrow, strife and care 

My existence you might share. 

Was your wish like that at all ? " 
" No," she answered, " you might call 

^ ■ 



For the true artist it is art and not man that he offers to the admiration 
of man.— Delsarte. 



DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 303 

Mine a vain one. It was this : 
That I yet may know the bliss 
Of a satin pearl-trimmed dress, 
Unexcelled in loveliness." 

Happy are these wishers two. 

What each wanted has come true ; 

He has won the damsel fair, 

She the gorgeous gown doth wear. 

A moral has this tale my friend, 
That he who gets the shortest end 
May also get at last what he 
Has wished for most tremendously. 



BRITA'S^ WEDDING. 



Rev. W. W. Marsh. 



THE wind from the hills of Finnmark, came o'er the 
icy fjord, 
And the drooping fire of Saltden,^ rocked shuddering as it 

roared. 
And the night was dark, save the light of stars, 
Or the flush of the JSTorthern Lights' tremulous bars. 

There was the sound of trampling footsteps in the creak of 

the frosty snow. 
And the roar of a thund'rous knocking, with heavy hand, 

blow upon blow. 



There is no Delsarte walk, no Delsarte stayiding -position, no Delsarte 
way to sit down, no Delsarte way of doing anything. The only way we seek 
is nature's way. Man can no more make natural things than he can create 
truth. He can create unnatural ways and falsehood ; at his hest, he dis- 
covers nature's ways and lives truth.— 'E^ily M. Bishop. 
►J, , 



304 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Heard under the gusts which went before 
On the oaken bars of Lars Jansen's^ door. 

Sturdy Lars undid the fastenings, and the firelight fell 

without 
On the flashing snow, like a blood stain, and over a lusty 

rout 
Of bearded Finns ; and a wolfish gleam 
Had tooth and eye in the firelight's beam. 

" We are over the hills to Leifert's, Thord Ormsen is 

feasting to-day; 
But the snow is deep and the pines are dark, come, bonda^, 

and lead the way." 
'^ i^ot I," growled Lars, ''for no guests are ye 
At Brita's wedding to make so free. 

'' And hear ye the wind in the tree-tops? See, the air is 

white with snow ! 
And hear how the wolves am^ howling in the pines of the 

pass below. 
No white-blooded Finn could pass to-night 
The drifted crags in this dim light." 

"Out, inthing^! Is the night so fearful? By the ham- 
mer of Thor, my man. 

Where a Norseman goes I can follow ! Lead on, man:,# so 
ye can ; 

Or the wolves ye fear, ye'U find by dawn. 

And thy good house blaze to light us on. 



4- 












— 


— 


Hh 


You admire a 

SARTE. 


work 


of art only when 


you 


re-find yourself 


in 


it- 


-Del- 


A- 


















* 



DBLSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 305 

"Lead on! for the red-cheeked Brita is passing the good 

brown ale, 
And the big-limbed Alten bonder are dancing the fresh 

bride pale. 
See, the night wears on and we lose it all, — 
What fear ye, man ? Let the good-wife call." 

No move ! Lars did on his snow-shoes with a fire in his 

blue Norse eye. 
And he muttered, " We'll see by the starlight, how a Finn 

may go to die. 
Ye shall dance to-night, my merry men. 
But Hela's^ guests neyer dance again." 

And away in the swirling snow-wreaths, through the keen 

and frosty night, 
They climbed like goats of the hedges, by the dim and 

flickering light ; 
Then with straight, swift rush down windy sweeps. 
Or sharp, dizzy turns, o'er half -seen deeps. 

Sometimes came a sudden thunder, where the rocks were 

rent by frost ; 
Or again from a treeless summit, through the lull of the 

tempest tost. 
They heard the wolves of Alten fjord 
Above the bass that Kjaerstad^ roared. * 

And still, under his shaggy eyebrows, Lars, sharply glancmg 

back. 
Flung taunts to the Finns who followed hard panting in 

his track; 

I Physical control gives a sense of repose and power to the mind. The hody 
I is hut the clothing of the soid ; when it moves easily, gracefully, the soul 
expresses itself with perfect freedom, being unconscious of its physical 
I enviro7iment.—'EMiLY M. Bishop. 

^ ^ 



306 ^ DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

And each taunt was a blow, for nerves were tense, 
And the keen air tingled at every sense. 

''Man, go on! " snarled the Finn in answer, too wrathful 

for steady speech, 
I " We are doing no work of woman; we'll follow thy 

strongest reach." 
And the grinding creak of the snowy path 
Grew fiercer still with their kindling wrath. 

In Lars Jansen's heart a purpose grew clearer and stronger 

still: 
''Their thoughts are of theft and murder, they are meaning 

my Brita ill. 
I'll light to their rest to-night," he said, 
"They shall touch no hair of her bright head." 

So the way dipped into the shadows ; no light of the stars 

could fall. 
Where the torches flared thro' the leaning boughs, far up 

on the rocky wall ; 
And the snow spun back as they swept past ; 
On, on, down the steeps, and breaths came fast. 

On, on, and the way grew narrow, with a darksome depth 

below, 
And a sharp, short curve, unnoticed in the torchlight's 

fitful glow, 
Where the coolest head, and the steadiest eye. 
Asked the light of day that pass to try. 



Be warm outwardly^ cold 'i?iw;ardlj/.— Delsarte. 



DELS A R TE RE C IT A TION B OK. 307 

On, still, with a swift glance backward, he noticed the long 

line reel ; 
On — yet in the terrible pressure Lars Jansen's nerves were 

steel, — 
Till he saw by the glare his own torch flung, 
The empty darkness beneath him hung. 

"With a foot as sure as a chamois, he leaped by the crag 



And his torch he flung straight onward, out into the mid- 
night wide ; 
While the panting line of Finns flashed by, 
Like meteors shot from a murky sky. 

Out into the bottomless darkness, the foremost shot and fell, 
With a startled shriek, which faintly came back like a 

muffled knell ; 
(So swift the drop with arrested breath) 
And the rearmost pressed to the leap of death. 

No stay of the blind, mad hurrying, no check from that 

cry's vague fear. 
With the light on their flushed, hard faces, unblanched by 

the death so near. 
They flashed and sank, with a rushing sweep, 
Thro' the pine that stooped o'er the crags asleep. 

To mark the red glare of their torches, far down the abyss 

leaned Lars, 
As the last shrill shriek of terror went tingling up to the 

stars. 



Before adult bodies can he molded to the desired expression of high] 
thought and feeling they must he made plastic, susceptible. An undoing 
process must, in nearly all cases, precede an uphuilding one. By mental 
intensity and muscular restraint, man is restricted, often unconsciously in 
all of his movements.— Emily M. Bishop. 

. .. — _„_„__. ^ 



308 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Then all was still, save the wind moaned low. 
Par down where the dead were heaped below. 

****** * * jH **** 

But the feasting was high at Leifert's, and the old brown 

ale was quaffed ; 
And under the eyes of the feasters, fair Brita blushed and 

laughed, 
Till Ivor, the bridegroom, looked smiling down 
At the sweet face under the bridal crown. 

But the door swung wide on the dancers, and, white on the 

threshold, there 
Stood Lars, with a quivering nostril, and the snow in his 

streaming hair. 
And his white teeth set, as he told how fast 
The rout had leaped to their death at last. 

Thord Ormsen stood with wild eyes flashing, and with 

clenched fists by the fire ; 
Ivor clutched the haft of his dagger as Brita nestled nigher, 
With a face from which all the red was gone, 
And a heart that heaved like the tide at dawn. 

The dancing and feasting were over, the flagons of ale stood 

brimmed : 
The laughter was stilled, unforbidden, and the untended 

fires were dimmed. 
As they talked in the dim light under their breath. 
With start and pause, of this bridal of death. 



■^ 










^ 


To attain the Beautiful is 
principle.— Delsarte. 


imijossihle without 


a formula, 


that 


is. 


a fixed 


li 4^ ■ ■. 










* 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 309 

So it befell at the wedding of Brita ; and they tell with 

drawn breath now, 
In the long, starry nights of Norway, of hot Lars Jansen's 

vow; 
And the Finns, uncofl&ned, far below 
Where the sun ever shines, and the harebells blow. 

[^Breeta; ^Zaltden; ^Yansen; ^bonda, a farmer; ^a name of 
utter contempt; ^Queen of death; ''Kyarstad, a tide's whirlpool.] 



THEIR MOTHER. 



MY boy sat looking straight into the coals, 
From his stool at my feet one day. 
And the firelight burnished the curly head, 
And painted the cheeks with a dash of red, 
And brightened his very eyes, as he said, 
In his most confidential way : ^ 

'' Mamma, I think, when I'm a grown-up man, 

I shall have just two little boys." 
I smiled — he was six! — but he did not see. 
And I said: " Why, yes, how nice that will be! 
But if one were a girl, it seems to me. 

It would add to your household joys." 

"Well — yes," refiectively, ''that would be nice. 

And I'll tell you just what I'll do. 
I'll name one Eobbie, for me, you know." 
Then the bright eyes shone with a deeper glow, 
" And there's just the two of us now, and so 

I'll name the girl Annie, for you." 
f 4- 

As there is conscious and unconscious thought, so there is and must be 

conscious and unconscious tension ; tension that affects the involuntary as 

I well as the voluntary processes of the foodi/.— Emily M. Bishop. I 

^ _-^-__^ __— - — —^ 4- 



310 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

" But how would their mother like that ?" I asked. 

" Do you think that she would agree 
For us both to have names while she had none ?'' 
With the mystified, puzzled look of one 
Wholly befogged, said my logical son, 

' ' Their mother? Why, who is she ? " 



'AU REVOIR." 



A DRAMATIC VIGNETTE, 



Austin Dobson. 



j M. JOLICCEUK. 

( A Lady (unknown). 



Dramatis 
Personm 

[Scene. — The fountain in the Garden of the Luxembourg. It is 
surrounded by promenaders.] 

M. JoLiccEUR. 'Tis she, no doubt. Brunette — and tall; 
A charming figure, above all ! 
This promises — ahem ! 

Monsieur ? 
Ah ! it is three. The Monsieur's name 
Is Jolicoeur ? 
Madame, the same. 
And Monsieur's goodness has to say ? 
Your note ? 
Your note. 

Forgive me. Nay. l^Reacls.l 
^' If Madame (I omit) will he 
Beside the fountain-rail at three^ 



The Lady. 



m. jolicceue. 
The Lady. 

m. jolicceur. 
The Lady, 



^ 



It is hy the suhjective virtues of the ineffable power of art that the artist 
fixes fugitive things, gives permanence to what is momentary, and actvMity 
to that which is no more. Thus he himself lives on in what hy itself has no 
li/e.— Delsarte. 



DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 311 

Then Madame — possibly — may hear 
News of her spaniel. Jolicceur,'*^ 
Monsieur denies his note ? 

M. JOLICCEUK. I do. 

Now let me read the one from yon : 

'' If Monsieur Jolicoeur will he 

Beside the fountain-rail at three ^ \ 

Then Mojisieur — possiUy — may meet 

An old acquaintance. ' Indiscreet. ' " 

The Lady [scandalized']. 

Ah, what a folly ! ' Tis not true. 
I never met Monsieur. And you ? 

M. JoLiccEUK [with gallantry]. 

Haye lived in vain till now. But see ! 
We are observed. 

The Lady [looking round]. 

I comprehend. [After a pause.] 
Monsieur, malicious brains combine 
For your discomfiture, and mine. 
Let us defeat that ill design. 
If Monsieur but [hesitating] — 

M. JoLiccEUR [iowi^ig]. Eely on me. 

The Lady [still hesitating]. 

Monsieur, I know, will understand — 

M. JoLiccEUR. Madame, I wait but your command. ; 

The Lady. You are too good. Then condescend 
At once to be a new-found friend ! 

M. Jolicceur [entering upon the part for twith]. 

How ? I am charmed — enchanted. Ah ! 
What ages since we met — at Spa? 



As much of truth as is in your luor^k will be immortal; the rest you do not 
wish should live.—C. Wesley Emerson. 



312 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The Lady [a little disconcerted~\. 

At Ems^ I think. Monsieur, maybe, 

Will recollect the Orangery ? 
M. JoLiccEUK. At Ems, of course. But Madame's face 

Might make one well forget a place. 
The Lady. It seems so. Still, Monsieur recalls 

The Kurhaus, and the concert-balls ? 
M. JoLiccEUR. Assuredly. Though there again 

' Tis Madame's image I retain. 
The Lady. Monsieur is skilled in repartee. 

(How do they take it ? Can you see ?) 
M. JoLiCGEUR. Nay, Madame furnishes the wit. 

(They don't know what to make of it!) 
The Lady. And Monsieur's friend who sometimes came? 

That clever — I forget the name. 
M. JoLiccEUR. The Baron ? It escapes me, too. 

' Twas doubtless he that Madame knew ? 
The Lady [arclilyl. Precisely. But my carriage waits. 

Monsieur will see me to the gates ? 
M. JoLiccEUE [offering arm], 

I shall be charmed. (Your stratagem 

Bids fair, I think, to conquer them.) 
[Aside.] 

(Who is she? I must find that out.) 

— And Madame's husband thrives, no doubt? 
The Lady [off her guard]. 

Monsieur de Beau — ? He died at Dole ! 
M. JoLiCGEUR. Truly. How sad ! 

[Aside.] (Yes, on the whole. 

How fortunate ! Beau-^re ? — Beau-t^aw? 

Which can it be ? Ah, there they go !) 

A — ^ 

I In regard to art, every attempt at a constitution will he struck with I 

j paralysis until music, eloquence, and plastic art, these three co-necessary 

bases of art, are taught unitedly as they are together united to the con- 

I stituent essences of our ibem(/.— Delsarte. I 

'h ^— * 




'So I think after that I may spake to the praist." 




The sweet song died, and a vague unrest, 
And a nameless longing filled her breast. 



DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 313 

Madame, your enemies retreat 

With all the honors of — defeat. 
The Lady. Thanks to Monsieur. Monsieur has shown 

A skill Preville would not disown. 
M. JoLiCGEUE. You flatter me. We need no skill 

To act so nearly what we will. 

Nay, — what may come to pass, if fate ^ 

And Madame bid me cultivate — 
The Lady [anticipating^^. 

Alas ! no farther than the gate. 

Monsieur, besides, is too polite 

To profit by a Jest so slight. 
M. JoLiccEUR. Distinctly. Still, I did but glance 

At possibilities — of chance. 
The Lady. Which may not serve Monsieur, I fear, 

Beyond the little grating here. 
M. JoliccetjH [aside], 

(She's perfect. One may get too far. 

Piano ^ sano.) 

[They reach the gates,] 
Here we are. 

Permit me, then. 

[Placing her in the carriage, ] 
And Madame goes ? 

Your coachman ? Can I ? \ 

The Lady [smili7ig'\. Thanks, he knows. 

Thanks, thanks! 
M. JoLiccEUE [insidiously]. And must we not renew 

Our — Ems acquaintanceship ? 
The Lady [still smiling]. Adieu! 

My thanks instead ! 



In Delsart^ culture only normal types and conditions are taken as 
standards. To be natural is not to yield to one's peculiarities ; it is to get 
free from all peculiarities.— EuiLY M. Bishop. 

' — —^ ■ 1 



314 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

M. JoLiccEUR [with pathos]. It is too hard 

[^Laying Ms hand on the grating. ] 
To find one's Paradise is barred ! 
The Lady. Nay. Virtue is her own reward ! 

{Exit,] 

M. JOLICCEUR {solus], 

"BediVi-vau ? — BeaTi-'yaZZo/2. ? — 'Q^diVi-manoir ?- 
But that's a trifle ! 

[Waving hand after carriage.] 
Au reyoir! 



T'WARD ARCADIE. 



Egan Mew. 



[To the audience.] 

OUR play is short, requiring little casting ; — 
Two people in a sweet conservatory ; 
Later may be 
We'll chance to see 
This couple trip it into Arcadie, 
Thinking their ecstasy forever lasting. 

She. Our waltz at last! Yet let it go; 

I've danced through one with Hugh Defoe, 
And learned to weigh that guardsman's toe — 
His step is all too dashing. 
He. Yes ? Then rest we will and hear the flow 
Of fiddle and of piccolo ; 
I'll watch— 



Before treating of any subject two things are necessary for the artist to 
learn : (l) What he ought to seek in the subject ; (2) where to find what he 
see/cs.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 315 

She. The dancers ? 

Hb. Ah, no, — ' 

Yonr eyelids flashing. 
She. Monsieur^ de grace ... "In Arcadie," 

I see this waltz is said to be ; 

How sweet the music's melody 
And fountain plashing ! 
He. *' In Arcadie ? " Have you been there ? 
She. Is it the region of the stair, 

Far up above the candles' flare, 
And cymbals' clashing? 
He. Sometimes perhaps — 
She. You know it, then ; 

You've entered there ? Oh, tell me when ? 

Or is't a land of smoke — and men. 
Of sabretasche and sashing ? 
He. I've only glanced in once — or twice ; 

Just now, in handing you an ice. 

Something I saw that would entice 
All Arcadie. 
She. Indeed ! What — ^lenses did you use ? 
He. Your eyes, — their blueness my excuse. 
She. Yours is, I think, too worn a ruse 
For Arcadie. 

But tell me of this happy land — 

Do nymphs and swains go hand in hand 

To airs— like the Hungarian band 
Is playing ? 
He. Daphnis and Chloe still are there ; 

He binds bright myrtle in her hair. 



^ . ^ —^ 

Many have mistakenly helieved that if the shoulders are held back, a 
correct, graceful carriage ivould he insured. On the contrary, focusing 
attention on the shoulders gives them a stiff awkwardness, whereas they 
should he perfectly free to perform their duty a« expression agents.— 
Emily M. Bishop. 

^ __ . 



316 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



She. 
He. 



She. 



He. 

She. 
He. 
She. 
He. 



She. 



He. 



No whisper comes of carking care, 

Of cold hearts slaying. 
Go on, I pray. 

There roses bloom ; 
The golden days can know no gloom; 
Eternal happiness their doom, 

So Chloe's saying. 
Yet no one's bored ; bright eyes meet eyes 
Still brighter, for they lack disguise ; 
Life sweetly comes, but never flies 

In Arcadie. 
Would I could visit, at season's end. 
The world you paint with cunning blend 
Of color-words, as though you'd send 

Us all to Arcadie. 
Which is the way ? I'll journey there 
Alone ; the land seems passing fair. 
JSTot so — alone: they go a-pair 

In Arcadie. 
Oh! 

There's one sweet way,— may I show how ? 
But, where and when ? 

Ah — here and now : 
Dearest, you know, you must allow — 

My heart is breaking. 
Sir, you forget! Our waltz is done; 
Through the camellias dancers come — 
Your heart, my heart — I think they're one ; 

Is't worth the taking ? 
While there be life one it shall be. 



Art and prayer so confound themselves in one ineffable unity that I can- 
not sepa/rate the two tMnflfs.— Delsarte. 



t)ELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 317 

Yonrs — yours and mine, no room for three 
In all the breadth of — Arcadie. 

ENVOI. 

And so, Messieurs, we've chanced to see 
Two more trip up to Arcadie. 

Ah, me! 
They think the land will ever be 

Their property. 



THE REVOLT OF MOTHER. 



Mary E. Wilkins. Arranged by Eva Coscarden. 



[By special permission. Copyrighted.] 

^^T^ATHEE! " 

X The old man shut his mouth tight, and went on 
harnessing the great bay horse. 

"Father!" 

''Wall, what is it?" 

"Look here, father, I want to know what them men are 
diggin' over in the front field for, an' I'm goin' to know\" 

" I wish you'd go into the house, mother, an' 'tend to 
your own affairs." 

" No, I ain't goin' into the house till you tell me what 
them men are doin' over in the field." 

Then she stood waiting. She was a small woman. Her 
forehead was mild and benevolent. There were meek 
downward lines about the nose and mouth. The old man 
glanced doggedly at his wife. She seemed as immovable to 



Pauses and poses are the most effective things in the language of ivords 
and gestures^ both indicating reserve /orce.— Emily M. Bishop. 



318 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

him as one of the rocks in the pasture land. He slapped 
the reins over the horse and started. 

''Father." 

The old man pulled up. " What is it ?" 

" I want to know what them men are diggin' over there 
in the field for." 

" They're diggin' a cellar I s'pose, if you've got to 
know." 

''A cellar for what?" 

''A barn." 

''A barn? You ain't goin' to build a barn over there 
where we are goin' to have a house, father ? " 

The old man said nothing more, but clattered out of the 
yard. His wife stood and watched him a moment, then 
went into the house, which was infinitesimally small com- 
pared with the great barns near by. A pretty girl's face, 
pink and delicate as a flower, looked forth from the win- 
dow. She turned as her mother entered. 

'' What are they diggin' for, mother ? Did he tell you ?" 

" They're diggin' for a cellar for a new barn." 

'' Oh, mother, father ain't goin' to build another barn?" 

" That's what he says." 

A boy stood near combing his hair. 

" Sammy, did you know father was goin' to build another 
barn ? " 

The boy combed assiduously. 

' ' Sammy, did you know your father was goin' to build 
another bam ? " 

" Yes, s'pose I did." 

" How long have you known it?" 

" 'Bout three months, I guess." 



There are voices against which no complaint can he made; hut my heart 
reproaches them^ for they can say nothing to it.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 319 

'' Why didn't you tell of it ?" 

'' Didn't think it would do no good." 

*'Is he goin' to buy more cows ?" 

The boy did not reply. 

*' Sammy, I want you to tell me if he's goin' to buy more 
cows." 

'' I s'pose he is." 

'' How many ?" 

" Four, I guess." 

His mother said nothing more. She went into the pan- 
try and there was the clatter of pans. The girl went to 
the sink and began washing the dishes. Her mother came 
promptly out of the pantry and shoved her aside. 

'' You wipe 'em. I'll wash 'em," said she. She plunged 
her hands into the dish-water, while the girl wiped the 
plates dreamily. 

'' Mother," said she, '' don't you think it's too bad father's 
goin' to build a new barn much as we need a decent house 
to liye in ? " 

Her mother scrubbed a dish fiercely. " You ain't found 
out yet, Nancy Penn, that we're women folks, an' how we'd 
ought to reckon men folks in with Providence, an' not com- 
plain of their doin's any more than you would of the 
weather." 

"I don't care, I don't believe George is anything like 
that anyway." Her face flushed, her lips pouted as if she 
were going to cry. 

"You wait an' see. I guess George Eastman ain't any 
better than any other man. You hadn't ought to judge 
father, though. He can't help it 'cause he don't look at 
things just the way we do." 
* ^ 

I There is always in a phrase loudly enunciated one word which sustains 
j the passionate accent.— A. Gueroult. 



320 DELS A R TE RE GIT A TION BOOK. 

" I do wish we had a parlor." 

" I guess it won't hurt George Eastman to come to see 
you in a nice clean kitchen. A good many girls don't have 
as good a place as this. Nobody's ever heard me com- 
plain." 

''I ain't complainin' either, mother." 

'' Well, you'd better not; a girl that's got as good a father 
an' a good home as you've got. S'pose your father made 
you go out an' work for your livin' ? Lots of girls have to 
that ain't no stronger an' better able to than you." 

Nobility of character manifests itself at loop-holes, when 
not provided with larger doors. Sarah Penn's showed itself 
to-day in flaky dishes of pastry. So she baked the pies 
faithfully while across the table she could see, when she 
glanced up from her work, the sight that rankled her soul, 
— the digging of the cellar for the new barn in the place 
where, twenty years before, Adoniram had promised that 
their new house should stand. 

Adoniram and Sammy were home a few minutes after 
twelve. The dinner was eaten in serious haste. Sammy 
went back to school, Adoniram went to work in the yard 
unloading wood. 

''Father !" 

''Well, what is it?" 

" I want to see you just a minute, father." 

" I can't leave this wood, no how." 

" I want to see you just a minute." 

"I tell you I can't come." 

"Adoniram, j^ou come here." She stood in the door 
like a queen, and held her head as if it bore a crown ; there 
was that patience in her voice which makes authority royal. 



Art is, definitively, a mysterious agent, of which the sublime virtues work 
in us, by contemplative paths, the subjection of divine things.— Dels arte. 



DEL8ARTE REGIT A TION BOOK, 321 

Adoniram went. Mrs. Penn lead the way into the kitchen 
and pointed to a chair. 

" Sit down, father; I've got somethin' I want to say to 
yon." 

" Wall, mother, what is it?" 

" I want to know what you are buildin' a new barn for, 
father I " 

" I ain't got nothin' to say about it." 

'' It can't be you think you need another barn ? " 

" I tell you I ain't got nothin' to say about it, an' I ain't 
goin' to say nothin' about it." 

"Be you goin' to buy more cows ? " 

He did not reply. 

" I know j^ou be. Now, father, look here. I'm goin' to 
talk real plain to you. I neyer have since I married you, 
but I'm goin' to now. You see this room, here, father? 
Look at it well. There ain't no carpet on the floor ; the 
paper's all dirt an' droppin' off the ceilin'. You see this 
room, father ? It's all the one I've had to work an' eat in 
since I married you, it's all the room Nancy's got to have 
her company in, an' it's all the room she'll have to be 
married in. There, father," she continued, " there's all 
the room I've had to sleep in for twenty j^ears. Here is all 
the buttery I've got. I want you to look at the stairs that 
go up to them unfinished rooms ; that's all the place your 
son an' daughter have to sleej) in. They ain't so good as 
your horses' stalls; it afn't so warm an' tight. Now, father, 
I want to know if you think you're doin' right an' accordin' 
to what you profess. You're lodgin' your dumb beasts bet- 
ter than your own flesh an' blood. I want to know if you 
think you're doin' right ! " 



[ Rational and practical principles thoroughly inculcated with art-tech- 
nique and individual application (not imitation) is an excellent founda- 
tion for originality of conception and proper adaptation of matter and 

I sentiment.— MuE. E. A. Alberti. 

^ 4 



322 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

" I ain't got no thin' to say." 

^' Yon can't say nothin' without ownin' yon ain't doin' 
right." 

Mrs. Penn's face was burning. She had pleaded her 
cause like a Webster. ' ' Father, ain't you got nothin' to say ? " 

" I've got to go after that load of gravel. I can't stan' 
here talkin' all day." 

"Father, won't you think it over an' have a house built 
instead of a barn ? " 

" I ain't got nothin' to say," and Adoniram shuffled out. 
. The new barn grew fast and was all ready for use by the 
third week in July. Adoniram had planned to move his 
stock in on Wednesday ; on Tuesday he received a letter 
which changed his plans. He came in with it early in the 
morning. 

''I've got a letter from Hiram, an' he says for me to 
come right up there ; he's got jest the kind of a horse that'll 
suit me." 

He prepared for a three days' journey. Just before leav- 
ing he said, with a consequential air : 

' ' If them air cows come to-day, Sammy can drive 'em into 
the new bam; an' when they bring the hay up, they can 
pitch it in there. I shall be back by Saturday night, if 
nothin' happens." 

Mrs. Penn hurried her baking. At eleven o'clock it was 
all done. The load of hay drew up at the new barn. Mrs. 
Penn went to the door and called : 

"Stop! Don't put the hay in the new barn; put it in 
the old barn; there's room enough, ain't there?" 

" Eoom enough ! Didn't need a new barn at all far's 
room's concerned." 

. — ___ ^ 



Wh^n the heart does not communicate to the brain its generous hurnings 
which illuminate and fecundate ; when it does not inflame those intuitions 
which constitute genius, the mind cannot go very /ar .—Delsarte. ] 

, . _ __ ^ 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 5-23 

Mrs. Penn went back into the house. 

*' I ain't goin' to git a reg'lar dinner; you can have some 
bread an' milk an' pie." 

Nancy and Sammy stared at each other ; there was some- 
thing strange in their mother's manner. 

" What are you goin' to do, mother ? " 

'' You'll see what I'm goin' to do. If you're through 
with your dinner, Nancy, you can pack up your things ; an' 
I want Sammy to help me take the beds down." 

''Why, mother, what for?" 

''You'll see." 

During the next few hours a feat was performed by the 
simple, pious New England mother, which was equal, in 
its way, to Wolfe's storming the Heights of Abraham. At 
five in the afternoon the little house the Penns had lived 
in for twenty years had emptied itself into the new barn ; 
by six the stove was up and the kettle boiling for tea. Fri- 
day the minister went to see her. He stood awkwardly be- 
fore her and talked. 

" There ain't no use talkin', Mr. Hersey," said she, " I've 
thought it all over an' over, an' I believe I'm doin' what's 
right. I've made it a subject of prayer, an' it's betwixt me 
an' the Lord an' Adoniram. There ain't no call for nobody 
else to worry." 

"Well, of course if you have brought it before the Lord 
in prayer and feel satisfied you are doing right, Mrs. Penn," 
said the minister helplessly. 

" I think it's right jest as much as I think it was right 
for our forefathers to come to this country, 'cause they 
didn't have what belonged to 'em." She arose. The barn 
floor might have been Plymouth Eock from her bearing, 

4* 4- 

I We, all Tiiioiv the power of certain inflections ; we know that a phrase, I 
I which accented in a certain way is null, accented in another way produces 
I irresistible effects. It is the ])ro]jerty of great artists to discover the pre- 
! eminent accentuation.— A. Gueroult. I 

^ _ ^ 



324 DELS A R TE REOtTA TlON B OK. 

'' I don't doubt you mean real well, Mr. Hersey, but there 
are things people hadn't ought to interfere with. Won't 
you come in an' set down? An' how's Mrs. Hersey ? " 

" She's well, I thank you." After a few remarks he re- 
treated. 

Toward sunset on Saturday Adoniram was expected. 
Sammy looked out of the harness-room window. 

" There he comes," he said, in an awed whisper. 

He took the new horse by the bridle and came slowly 
across the yard to the new barn. The doors rolled back, 
and there stood Adoniram with the horse looking over his 
shoulder. He stared at the group. 

^'What on airth you all down here for? What's the 
matter over to the house ? " 

'' We've come here to stay, father," said Sammy. 

'' What — what is it smells like cookin'? What on airth 
does this mean, mother," he gasped. 

" Come in, father," said his wife. She led the way to 
the harness-room and shut the door. ' ' Now, father, you 
needn't be scared. I ain't crazy. But we've come here to 
stay, an' we're goin' to stay here. We've got jest as good 
right as your new horses an' cows. I've done my duty by 
you for twenty years an' I inten' to now ; but I'm goin' to 
live here. You've got to put in some windows an' parti- 
tions, an' you'll have to buy some new furniture, an' then 
we'll have a home to be proud of. You'd better take off 
your coat an' get washed, an' then we'll have some supper." 

He tried to take off his coat, but his arm seemed to lack 
the power. His wife helped him tenderly. Then the 
family drew around the table. The old man gazed dazedly 
at his plate. 
^ __- ^ 4, 

IThe expressions of stupor and of astonishment are greatly increased 
when preceded by a quivei^ing of the eyelid (blinking}. —Delsarte. 



DBLSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 325 

*' Ain't you goin' to ask the blessin', father?" said his 
wife. 

He bent his head and mumbled. 

After the supper dishes were cleared away, Sarah came 
out to her husband in the twilight. She bent over and 
touched him : " Father ! " 

The old man's shoulders heaved ; he was weeping. 

<' Why, don't do so, father," said Sarah. 

"I'll — put up the — partitions an' windows, an' buy the 
furniture, — an' everythin' you — want, mother. I hadn't 
no idee you was so sot on it as all this comes to." 



DESOLATION. 



Tom Masson. 



SOMEWHAT back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 
Across its antique portico 
Tall poplar trees their shadows throw. 
And there, throughout the livelong day, 
Jemima plays the pi-a-na. 

Do, re, mi,. 
Mij-re, do. 

In the front parlor, there it stands, 
And there Jemima plies her hands ; 
• While her papa, beneath his cloak, 
Mutters and groans: " This is no joke !" 
And swears to himself and sighs, alas ! 



4-- 










— 













^ 


Harmony 
Emerson. 


is 


a positive 


enei 


vy 


and not 


a 


negative 


quality.- 


-C. 


Wesley 


^- 























^ 



426 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

With sorrowful voice to all who pass, 
*' Do, re, mi. 
Mi, re, do." 

Through days of death and days of birth 
She plays as if she owned the earth. 
Through every swift vicissitude 
She drums as if it did her good, 
And still she sits from morn till night 
4nd plunks away with main and might, 

Do, re, mi, 

Mi, re, do. 

Xn that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted hospitality ; 
But that was many years before 
Jemima monkeyed with the score. 
When she began her daily plunk. 
Into their graves the neighbors sunk. 

Do, re, mi, 

Mi, re, do. 

To other worlds they've long since fled 
All thankful that they're safely dead. 
They stood the racket while alive 
Until Jemima rose at five, 
And then they laid their burdens down, 
And one and all they skipped the town. 

Do, re, mi. 

Mi, re, do. 



Anxiety calls for a double movement of the eyebrows: Fii^st, contract 
them ; secondly, raise t/iem.— Delsarte. 



DELS A R TE REG IT A TION BOOK. 337 

THE SPANISH GYPSY. 



George Eliot. 



[The scene is between Zarca, chief of the gypsy tribe of the 
Zincah, and his daughter, Fedalma, who, at the age of three, 
had been stolen from him, and has been reared in the royal 
family of Spain ; and now, at the age of seventeen, is betrothed 
to the Spanish Duke Silva. The day before her marriage her 
father gains an interview with her and persuades her to rejoin 
her people, then held captive by the Spaniards, and flee with 
them to Africa.] 

ZAECA. At last I see my little maid full-grown, 
NoAv I see her whom the Spaniards call the bright 
Fedalma. 
The little red-frocked foundling — three years old — 
Grown to sucli perfectness the Christian Duke 
Has wooed her for his Duchess. Therefore I have sought 

you; 
Therefore I am come to claim my child — 
Not from the Spaniard, not from him who robbed, 
But from herself. And my child owns her father ? 

Fedalma. Father, yes ! 
I will eat dust before I will deny 
The flesh I sprang from. 

Zarca. There my daughter spake ! 

Away, then, with these rubies. Such a crown 
Is infamy on a Zincala's brow ! 
It is her people's blood decking her shame. 
Fedalma. Then — I — am — a Zincala ? 
Zarca. Of a blood 



People form their estimates of our character not necessaiily through our " 
I language, for perhaj)s they have never heard us speak, nor through the 
expression of our faces alone, but through the hearing of our entire bodies. 
I —Anna Morgan. 
^ . 



328 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Unmixed as virgin wine-jnice. 

And yon have sworn, even with your infant breath, 

You, too, were pledged to that faith, 

Taught by no priest, but by their beating hearts, 

Faith to each other. 

Fedalma. What have I sworn ? 

Zarca. To live the life of a Zincala's child, 
The child of him who, being chief, will be 
The savior of his tribe. You, my child, do you 
Pause to choose ? 

Fedalma. What is my task ? 

Zarca. To be the angel of a homeless tribe ; 
To help me bless a tribe taught by no prophet, 
I'll guide my brethren forth to their new land. 
Where they shall plant and reap and sow their own;\ 
Where they may kindle their first altar-fire. 
That land awaits them ; they await their chief-— ^^ 
Me, who am imprisoned. All depends on you. 

Fedalma. Father, your child is ready. She will not 
Forsake her kindred. Listen, father : 
The Duke to-morrow weds me. Then I will declare 
Before them all I am his daughter — his. 
The gypsy's, owner of this golden badge. 
Then I shall win your freedom. Then the Duke — 
Why, he will be your son ! — will send you forth 
With aid and honors. Then, before all eyes, 
I'll clasp this badge on you and lift my brow 
For you to kiss it, saying, by that sign : 
I glory in my father ! This, to-morrow. 

Zarca. What, marry first. 

And then proclaim your birth ? Enslave yourself 

Hf- — — — 4- 

Orators are divided into artists in ivords and artists in gesture. Those 
who are simply artists in words are those who do not move |/ou.— Delsarte. 




FRANCE PROTECTING HER ALSATIAN SOLDIER. 
By Mercie. 




LL 
UJ 

CC 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 329 

To use your freedom ? How will that tune 

Ein^ in your bridegroom's ears ? — that sudden song 

Of triumph in your Gypsy father ? 

Fedalma. Oh, I am not afraid ! 

His love for me is stronger than all hate. 
He will never hate the race that bore him 
What he loves most. 

I shall but do more strongly what I will, 
Having his will to help me. And to-morrow. 
Father, as surely as this heart shall beat. 
You — every chained Zincala — shall be free ! 

Zakca. JSTot so. The woman who would save her tri^e 
Must help its heroes not by wordy breath, 
By easy prayers, strong in a lover's ears. 
Other work is yours ! 

Fedalma. What work? What is it that you ask of m< ? 

Zarca. a work as noble as an act of man. 
A fatal deed. 

Fedalma. Stay ! Never utter it ! 

If I can part my lot from him whose love 
Has chosen me. 

All sorrows else are but imagined flames. 
But his imagined sorrow is a fire 
That scorches me. 

Zarca. Listen ! 

Hard by yon terrace is a narrow stair 
Cut in the living rock. Opened it leads 
Through a broad passage furrowed under ground, 
A good half-mile out to the open plain. 
To find that door 
Needs one who knows the number of the steps 

— 4- 



The respiration corresponding to courage meeting danger is long, deep, 
and vigorous; the lungs become inflated to their utmost capacity — 
Genetieye Stebbins. 



330 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Just to the turning-point, to open it. 
Yon will ope that door and fly with us. 

Fedalma. No, I will never fly ! 
Never forsake that chief half of my soul 
Where lies my soul. I swear to set you free. 
Ask for no more. 

Look at these hands ! You say when they were little 
They played about the gold upon your neck. 
But see them now. They have twined themselves 
With other throbbing hands, whose pulses feed 
Not memories only, but a blended life — 
Life that will bleed to death if it be severed. 
Have pity, father ! Wait the morning; say 
You'll wait the morning. I will win your 
Freedom openly. You shall go forth 
With aid and honors. Silva will deny 
Nought to my asking. 

Zarca. • Till you ask him aught 

Wherein he is powerless. Soldiers even now 
Murmur against him that he risks the town 
To celebrate his nuptials with a bride 
Too low for him. They'll murmur more and louder 
If captives of our pith and sinew, flt 
For all the work the Spaniard hates, are freed. 

Fedalma. Then I will free you now ! You shall be safe. 
The deed may put our marriage off. 

Zarca. Aye, till the time 

When you shall be a queen in Africa 
And he be prince enough to sue for you. 
You cannot free us and come back to him. 

Fedalma. And why ? 

4— ^ r-J- 

Contraction of the lower eyeUd expresses se7i8iUveness.—l)-Eis,A.^TK. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 331 

Zarca. I would compel yon to go forth. 

Fedalma. You tell me that ? 

Zarca. Yes ; you have no right to choose. 

Fedalma. I only owe a daughter's debt. 
I was not born a slave. 

Zarca. No, not a slave, but you were born to reign. 
'Tis a compulsion of a higher sort. 
You belong not to yourself, but to your tribe ! 

Fedalma. No ! I belong to him who loves me — whom 
I love ; 
Who chose me — whom I chose — to whom I 
Pledged a woman's truth. 

Zarca. Well, then, unmake yourseH from a Zincala ! 
Unmake yourself from being child of mine ! 
Take holy water, cross your dark skin white ; 
Bound your proud eyes to foolish kitten-looks ; 
Walk mincingly and smirk and twitch your robe ; 
Go trail your gold and velvet in his presence ! 
Smile at your rare luck, while half your brethren 

Fedalma. I am not so vile ! 

It is not to such mockeries that I cling. 
It is to him — my love — the face of day ! 

Zarca. Will you part him from the air he breathes. 
Or grasp a life apart from flesh and blood ? 
Till then you cannot wed a Spanish duke 
And not wed shame at mention of your race, 
And not wed hardness to their miseries — 
IsTay, not wed murder. 
For that child of mine is doubly murderess 
Murdering her father's hope, her people's trust ! 

Fedalma. Father, since I am yours, drag me to the doom 



Every change of mental state is accompanied with a corresponding 
change in the power ^ force, and rhythm of respiration. — Genevieve 
Stebbins. 



332 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

My birth has laid on me. I cannot ivill to go, 

Zarca. Will, then, to stay ! 
Say you will curse your race ! 

Fedalma. No, no ! I will not say it — I will go ! 
Father, I choose. I will not take a heaven 
Haunted by shrieks of far-off misery. I will go. 
I will strip off these gems. Some happier bride 
Shall wear them, since I should be dowered 
With nought but curses. Now, good gems, we part. 
Speak of me tenderly to Silva. 
Father, come. I will wed the curse of the Zincali, 

Zarca. No curse has fallen on us till we cease to help 
each other. 
Write now to the Spaniard. Briefly say 
That I, your father, came ; that you obeyed. 

Fedalma. Yes, I will write; but he — 
Oh, he would know it. He would never think 
The chain that dragged me from him could be aught 
But scorching iron entering my soul. [ Writes,^ 
' ' Silva, sole love — he came — my father came ! 
I am the daughter of the Gypsy chief, 
W^ho means to be the savior of our tribe. 
He calls on me to live for this great end — 
To live ? Nay, die for it ! Fedalma dies 
In leaving Silva. All that lives henceforth 
Is the Zincala." Father, now I go 
To wed my people's lot. 

Zarca. To wed a crown ! 
We will make royal the Zincala's lot. 

Fedalma. Stay — my betrothal ring ! One kiss. 
Farewell ! Farewell ! 



It is the mind that governs the feet and not the feet that govern the 
mind.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 333 

THE SILENT ARMY OF MEMORIAL DAY. 



Julia Clinton Jones. 

[Dedicated to the Grand Army of the Republic.2 

NEWS of battle ! Hear it ringing 
Thro' the welkin as we inarch ; 
■Jf ews of battle ! news of victory ! 
Swelling thro' the azure arch. 

Tramping, tramp ! a double legion 

Thro' the city's streets we go ; 
But of 07ie the tread is silent^ 

While our own is measured, slow. 
See ! the ranks of that Grand Army, 

Pressing round us, fuller grow ! 
Flags are waving by our standards 

Eent and dyed with crimson stain, 
Borne by unseen hands around us. 

Brought from many a battle plain ; 
Waved aloft by bleeding heroes 

Leading Freedom's fearless sons, 
Storming breastworks, snatching victory 

From the muzzles of the guns ! 
These have brought the news of battle, 

Mustering novv^ in pale array. 
Marching close to each battalion. 

With each army post to-day. 
As once more the rolling seasons 

Bring again Memorial Day. 



Relaxation does not mean acting in a relaxed, lazy manner. It means | 
rest after effort; perfect rest after perfect effort. It means the conscious 
transfer of energy from o^ie department of nature to another, with perfect 
ease and grace, after an extreme tension of body or brain. — Genevieve 
Stebbins. I 
~^— ^ ^ 



334 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Army Grand of our Eepablic! 

Silent Army of the North ! 
Though your drums have beat to quarters, 

Memory's bugle calls you forth. 
Shadowy spirits of our comrades, 

You who fell on battle-plain, — 
Fell in hospital and prison, 

Thrown in trenches — nameless slain, 
Soldiers, though unknown to glory. 

Uncommissioned fallen there, 
By that battle-charge breyeted. 

Honor's epaulets you wear ! 
With the last guns left you sleeping. 

Left no sentry by your side, — 
Past your silent camp no picket 

On his rounds again shall stride. 

There the file detailed for burial 

'Neath the sod our comrades laid. 
While in roll of drum was muffled 

The dull ringing of the spade. 
In those shallow trenches resting. 

Shattered forms of soldiers lie, 
But their spirits still are with us, — 

Patriot heroes never die ! 
Hark! tramp, tramp! we know their footsteps ! 

Know of old this marching host ; 
Thro' the land these phantom legions 

Meet at each Grand Army Post. 
So we meet and march, companions ! 

On this new Memorial Day ; 



I The attitude of the hands in prayer is a certain form of ca/ress. In our 
desire to have the thing we pray for, we clasp our hands and press them to 
our hosom as if we already held it.— Delsarte. I 

t ^ ^_ ^ ^ 4 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. S35 

Some still in their manhood's vigor, 

Some are scarred, and maimed, and gray, 

But the legions marching with us. 
Are the same as yesterday. 

'Mid the martial music sounding. 

And the tread of tramping feet, 
Eank and file, their voices mingle 

With the noises of the street. 
Greeting, comrades ! give us greeting, 

EoU of drum, and floral wreath, 
Let our blood-bought flag wave o'er us, — 

See ! the sword is in its sheath ! 
See ! the battle's smoke has faded, 

Scout and sentry, all withdrawn ; 
Where the sleeping ranks lie quiet, ' 

There no drum-tap sounds at dawn. 
Greeting, comrades! here we greet you,^ 

With quick-step our spirits come, 
And our honored chief is with us, 

Marching to your battle-drum — 
He, the patient martyr-leader 

Of the nation, gaunt and tall, — 
Hear his gentle accents teaching 

" Malice toward none, love for all! " 

Now the fragrant flowers are lying 

Eound about on soldier-mound, 
And the viewless troops are passing 

To the Dead March' solemn sound. 
Lighter grows the drum-corps' measure, 

Finished now our task of love, — 
4, ^ 

I Expressions of the face that sink into the chin, and attitudes of the torso 
that relax into the abdomen and are accompanied hy unsteadiness of the 
legs, are all significant of weakness and degradation.— Qeneyiey^ 

I Stebbins. 

^ • 



336 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOR. 

Broken ranks, by squads and single, 
Men and phantoms, homeward move. 

Once more meet Ave, double legions ! 

Here within these peaceful walls, 
Where no battle-trumpet summons, 

Warlike fife nor bugle calls ; 
But with lovely women near us. 

And our colors on the walls ! 
Hark ! again a spirit greeting 

Floats above orchestral strains: 
'' Comrades! war and strife are over, 

But our Union's flag remains ! 
Underneath that flag together. 

You and we, companions ! stand ; 
Saved by us, that flag of Freedom ! 

Long its stars shall light the land. 
Watchwords three we leave behind us, 

They shall keep our country free, 
Hold them as a sacred message — 

Brotherhood ! Love ! Loyalty ! 
Bear a love for our Eepublic, 

For our brothers, one and all, 
Forward ! for our country's honor ! 

Quick-step, march ! if she shall call. 
; Guard her, comrades, in her peace-time, 

Fight her battles if she need ; 
Let our sons — the sons of veterans — 

Earn like us the patriot's meed. 
Though whole troops of us are lying 

Soldiers missing from the roll. 



In ifib narrative portion of a recitation the eyes of the speaker should 
meet the eyes of the audience. In this way he fixes their attention and 
engages tneir sympathy.— T>ELSAYiTE. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 337 

Absent at the call of bugle, 

See ! each name is on the scroll, 
Written with a nation's life-blood 

On our Union's honor roll. 
Some are here who greet us kindly 

From the south-lands far away; 
Welcome is the tear-drop falling, 

Mingled tear for Blue and Gray — 

For the Blue as well as Gray. 
Comrades shall they stand together, 

Rank by rank, and file by file. 
When the self-same trump shall summon 

To the self-same camp erewhile." 

Dimmer now the lights are burning. 

Sweeter, slower, falls each note ; 
'Mid the dying strains of music. 

Faint and far, the voices float : 
'' Sons of veterans, veteran soldiers, 

New recruits, and beards of gray. 
In the distance echoing bugles 

Call us from your Post away — 
Call us to our own divisions 

Until next Memorial Day ! " 

Farewell, friends and old companions! 

Thanks for this warm greeting here ; 
May the God whose might hath led us 

Grant we meet again next year. 
Now, dress ranks ! present arms, comrades ! 

Ladies ! we salute you now, — 
Noble sex, who gave us heroes. 



I It was Delscvrte's discovery that the soul moves in obedience to universal j 
law ; that its efforts to manifest itself to the outer world are restricted by 
the conditions imposed by space, time, and motion; that the soul must 

I express itself in space, through time, by motion.— Anna Morgan. | 

4,- 4, 



338 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Faith and love to you we vow. 
Cheer the old flag ! wave forever 

Stars and Stripes ! Eed, White and Blue ! 
Blood-stained, torn, but never lowered, 

Freedom's flag ! three cheers for you ! 

Comrades, till our next Post meeting. 
Come, stack arms ! break ranks ! adieu. 



STORY OF GUGGLE. 



Thomas Speed. 



ONCT 'pon a time dere wus a woman, an' she wus a 
widder, an' she had a boy name' Guggle, an' 
Guggle he wus so lazy an' triflin' his mudder couldn' do 
nuflBn' wid him. He wouldn' work an' he wouldn' learn 
nuffin' ; an' so he growed up to be a tol'able big boy, an' he 
didn' know nuffin' an' he couldn' do nuffin'. All he wus 
fit fur wus to lay up close to de kitchen fire an' go 'sleep. 
So one day his mudder ketch him sleepin' so close up in de 
chimney he wus clear up in de ashes ; an' she snatch holt 
him an' box an' cuff him 'roun' so dat Guggle he run out 
de doh an' run ober to his aunt's house. But Guggle's 
mudder she didn' know whar Guggle wus gone. So nex' 
day when she saw him comin' home, she say : 
" Guggle, whar you bin? " 

An' Guggle say: " I bin ober to my aunt's house." 
Den Guggle's mudder say: " Well, Guggle, what yo' aunt 
gib you, honey ?" 



Movements of the arms alone, without the expression of the face, do not 
mean anj/t/img.— Dels arte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 339 

Den Guggle sorter hung down his head like, an' look 
foolish, an' he say: "She gib me a needle, an' as I wus 
comin' 'long I saw some boys playin', an' I stuck de needle 
in de haystack, w^hile I play wid de boys. An' when I 
come to look fur de needle, I couldn' fin' it nowhar." 

Den Guggle's mudder, she say: " Lah, chile, you always 
wus a goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you stick de 
needle in yo' coat-sleeve ? Den when you come home you 
would had de needle." 

Den Guggle say: ''Well, mudder, nex' time I know 
better." 

After awhile Guggle's mudder she ketch him 'sleep in 
de ashes agin ; an' she mighty mad dis time, an' she took 
holt Guggle by de collar of his coat an' beat Guggle good, 
till he went out de house jes' a-bawlin', an' way he went 
ober to his aunt's house. Dis time Guggle stayed at his 
aunt's house two, free days. An' when his mudder see him 
comin' home she wus mighty glad to see him comin', cos 
she love' Guggle, fur all he wusn' no 'count, an' she kep' on 
hopin' he gwine do better. An' when she see Guggle, she 
say: 

"Guggle, whar you bin ? " 

An' Guggle say: "I bin ober to my aunt's house, an' my 
aunt gib me a lump o' butter, an' I thought I do like you 
tol' me, an' I stuck it up my coat-sleeve, an' look here how 
it all done melted! " 

An' when Guggle's mudder see de butter all runnin' out 
his coat-sleeve an' down on his han', she say: "Guggle, 
what I gwine do wid you, nohow? You always wus a 
goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you wrap de butter 
up in a cabbage-leaf, an' dip it in ebery col' spring you 



We must free the tody from the stiffness of individuality by yielding it 
up to the claims of universality.— Anna Morgan. 



340 DELS A R TE REGIT A TION BOOK, 

come to ? Den when you got home, de butter all nice an' 
fresh." 

Den Guggle he say: ''Well, mudder, nex' time I know 
better." 

Guggle didn' go 'sleep in de ashes any moh fur two, free 
. weeks. So his mudder she begin to t'ink Guggle gwine do 
better. But sho' nuff, one day dere wus Guggle layin' up 
soun' 'sleep in de ashes. An' his mudder she wus so mad 
she beat an' maul Guggle ober his head wid de broomstick, 
what she hab in her han', cos she bin sweepin'. An' Gug- 
gle hustle out de doh in a hurry, an' run ober to his aunt's 
house. Now Guggle's aunt had a nice little puppy ; an' 
when she saw Guggle lookin' at de puppy like he want him, 
she say : 

" Guggle, don' you wan' dat little puppy?" 

An' Guggle say : ' ' Yes'm. " 

An' she say he might hab him. So Guggle 'member 
what his mudder tol' him, an' he got out in de gyardin an' 
git a big cabbage-leaf, an' ketch de puppy, an' wrap him 
up in de cabbage-leaf, an' start home. An' ebery col' 
spring he come to he dip de little puppy in. So when 
Guggle's mudder she see him comin', she run out to de 
gate, an' say : 

" Guggle, whar you bin, chile?" 

An' Guggle he say: '' I bin to my aunt's house; an' she 
gib me dis little puppy, an' I wrap him up in a cabbage- 
leaf like you tol' me, an' dip him in ebery col' spring I come 
to, an' now de puppy done dead." 

Den Guggle's mudder she feel like she jes' hab to gib up ; 
an' all she could say wus : 

"Oh! Guggle, you always wus a goose, an' always will 



It is the position of the eye that determines the expression of the head, 
for it is the direction of the eye, that tells us on which side the object is sup- 
I loosed to be.— Delsarte. | 

•J.— ^ 



DELS A R TE RE C IT A TION BOOK, 341 

be. Why didn' 3^ou tie a string to de puppy an' lead him 
'long, an' say, ' Pup ! pup ! pup ! ' Den when you got home 
you hab nice little puppy to play wid." 

Den Guggle he say: " Well, mudder, nex' time I know 
better." 

Well, one day Guggle's mudder went ober to de neigh- 
bor's house, an' she stayed dere some time talkin' 'bout de 
new fashi'n' bonnets de ladies wus all a-gittin' 'bout dat 
time; an' when she come home an' went in de kitchen, 
dere wus Guggle layin' up close to de fire, right in de ashes. 
Den she wus mad sho' nuff ; an' she jes' laid down her shawl 
on de cheer, an' den she tuk off de specktikles she wus a- 
wearin', an' she caught Guggle by de coat-collar an' she 
beat him an' smacked him till de ashes flew out ob his does 
all ober de room. An' Guggle he run out de doh, an' 'way 
he went ober to his aunt's house. An' his mudder she wus 
so troubled she sot down on a split-bottom cheer an' cried 
an' cried 'bout Guggle. 

Dis time Guggle's aunt gib him a loaf ob bread to take 
home to his mudder. An' Guggle 'member what his m-ud- 
der tell him 'bout de string. So he tie' a long string to de 
loaf ob bread, an' went 'long home draggin' de bread on de 
groun' an' sayin' all de way, " Pup! pup! pup!" 

Now Guggle's mudder wus out in de j-ard, hangin' out 
some does on de line; an' she look' up, an' see Guggle comin' 
an' draggin' sumpfin' on de groun'. Den she say: 

" Guggle, whar you bin, an' what dat you draggin' on 
de groun' ? " 

Den Guggle say: "I bin to my aunt's house, an' she gib 
me a loaf ob bread, an' I done like 3^ou tol' me — I led it 
'long wid a string, an' it done drug all to pieces." 



The highest form of gesture is the spiral. All the higher emotions and \ 
aspirations find expression in spiral movements. Well-poised expression, 
showing the individual stronger than the emotion, is Ijy this form of move- 
ment.— Ge^eyiey-e Stebbins. 



342 DELS A R TE RE C IT A TION B OK, 

An' Guggle's mndder she wus so outdone she jes' frow 
up her han's an' say : 

' ' Oh ! Guggle, what I gwine do wid you, nohow ? You al- 
ways wus a goose, an' always will be. Why didn' you wrap de 
bread up in a clean table-cloff, an' put it on yo' head, an' 
come 'long home like you ought to 'a' done." 

Den Guggle he say: "Well, mudder, de nex' time I 
know better." 

'Twasn't long 'fore Guggle's mudder caught him 'sleep 
in de ashes agin ; an' when she beat him an' cuff' him 'roun' 
right smart. Guggle ran ober to his aunt's house. An' 
while he wus lookin' out de winder he see a little colt run- 
nin' 'roun' de yard ; an' he say : 

" Oh, aunty, what is dat?" 

An' she say : ' ' Why, Guggle, dat's a little colt. Don' 
you want him?" 

An' Guggle say: " Yes'm, if you gib him to me." 

So she say Guggle might take de colt 'long. 

Den Guggle say to hisself : '' I gwine do right dis time." 
So he go in de dinin'-room, an' take de table-cloff off de 
table, an' he ketch de colt, an' wrap de table-cloff all 'roun' 
him, an' try to lif de colt up on his head. But by dis 
time de colt done skeered pretty near to def ' ; an' he rared 
an' kicked till he got away an' ran clar off. So when Gug- 
gle went home, an' tol' his mudder 'bout de colt, she say : 

"Guggle, you always wus a goose, an' always will be. 
Why didn' you put bridle an' saddle on de colt, an' git up 
on him, an' ride him home, like you ought to 'a' done ? " 

Den Guggle say: "Well, mudder, I gwine do better nex' 
time." 

'Fore long, Guggle's mudder foun' him 'sleep in de ashes 



Art is the tendency of the fallen soul toward its primitive purity, or its 
final splendor. In a word, it is the search for the eternal type.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 34^ 

agin. Dis time he had wallowed all ober in de ashes, an' 
dey wus all ober his does, an' in his ha'r, an' in his pockets, 
an' in his shoes. But Guggle heerd his mudder comin', an' 
he jump' an' run out de doh, an' went ober to his aunt's 
house, 'fore his mudder had time to beat him. An' dis 
time his aunt gib him a nice little spotted calf, an' tol' him 
to take it home wid him. So, sho' nuff. Guggle went an' 
got a bridle, an' put de bridle on de calf, an' put a saddle 
on, an' got on hisself , an' started to ride home. 

•Now it so happen' dat 'bout dis time de King's daughter 
wus in a fit ob sadness cos she had los' her favorite k'nary 
bird; an' she wouldn' do nuffin' but cry an' cry all de time. 
An' de King an' de Queen, an' de young men, an' de fine 
ladies dey done all dey could to make de King's daughter 
moh cheerful. But all dey could do didn' do no good. 
She jes' cried all de time ; an' de King wus in a heap ob 
trouble, an' say he wus 'fraid his daughter gwine go in a 
'cline an' die. So he say if any man in all de kingdom 
could make his daughter laff , or eben jes' smile, he should 
marry her an' hab her fur his wife. So all de young men 
try ebery way dey knowed how to make de King's daughter 
lafE. But didn' do no good. She jes' cried an' cried all 
de time. 

But it so turned out dat one day de King's daughter wus 
settin' by de winder whar she ust to play wid her k'nary bird. 
An' she look' np de road, an' she see sumpfin' comin'. An' 
she look' an' look', an' all at onct she broke out lafl&n'. An' 
de people all run to see what she wus laffin' at. An' sho' 
nuff, it wus Guggle comin' down de road ridin' on de calf. 
An' de calf wus runnin' fust to one side de road an' den de 
oder. An' de ashes wus a-flyin' out Guggle's does, an' his 



The, rhythm of gesture is in proiJortion to the mass moved or to the feeling 
that prompts the mot;6m6?it.— Geneyieye Stebbins. 



344 DELS A R TE RE C IT A TION B OK, 

ol' ragged does wus flappin- 'bout ebery way, an' his ha'r 
wus stickin' out his ol' straw hat. An' dey all said it wus 
de funniest sight eber seen in de worl'. 

Den de King ups an' says : ' ' Dat man done make my 
daughter laff, an' he got to hab her fur his wife." 

So dey sent de King's officers down to de house whar 
Guggle live', an' tol' Guggle's mudder she mus' git him 
ready to marry de King's daughter. Den Guggle's mudder 
she went to work to git him ready to marry de King's 
daughter. An' she had Guggle's shoes black' so shiny you 
could see yo' face in 'em; an' she tol' Guggle he mus' jes' 
walk 'bout in all de nice, clean places, so not to git de shoes 
dirty agin. Den she went in de kitchen, an' she bake a 
whole lot ob pies fur de weddin'. An' as she would git de 
pies cooked done she sot 'em all 'roun' in de pans on de 
kitchen floh, to git cool. An' Guggle, he happen' to come 
along, an' he see de pies, an' he say to hisself : 

' ' De pies is all nice an' clean. Dat's good place to 
walk." 

So he walk right in de pies. Den when Guggle's mudder 
see what he bin doin', she scol' Guggle; but she 'fraid to 
beat him dis time, cos he gwine marry de King's daughter. 
An' she made Guggle go out de kitchen. Den she call' him- 
back, an' say: 

'' Guggle, go bring me de salt an' pepper." 

Now it so happen' dat Guggle's mudder had a ol' goose 
dat wus kinder gray color ; an' on dat 'count she call de ol' 
goose '' or Salt-an'-pepper." An' de ol' goose wus settin' 
on a nes' full ob aigs, behin' de barn-doh. So, sho' nuff, 
Guggle went an' caught de ol' goose, an' cut her head ofiE, 



Make me feel in advance. If it is something frightful, let me read it on 
your face before you tell me of it.— Dels arte. 



DEL8ARTE REGIT A TION B OK, 345 

an' tuk her in to his mudder. When Guggle's mndder saw 
him comin' in wid de oP goose, she jes' let some dishes fall 
out her han' on de floh, an' f row up her han's an' say : 

' ' Oh, Guggle ! Guggle ! You done gone an' killed my 
ol' settin' goose ; an' now de aigs won't hatch out. What 
I gwine do wid you, nohow? You nuflfin' but a goose yo'- 
self." 

So Guggle he feel mighty bad, an' went out de house, 
but his mudder didn' know whar he gwine. 

Den de King's officers come drivin' up, wid de fine car- 
riage an' six horses, to take Guggle up to de King's palace 
to marry de King's daughter. But dey couldn' fin' Guggle 
nohow. Dey call' him an' hunt fur him ; but dey couldn' 
fin' him. So de King's officers went back, an' tol' de King 
dey couldn' fin' Guggle no whar. Den de King he wus 
pow'ful mad, an' de King's daughter commence' cryin' 
agin, an' eberyt'ing wus in confusion, an' dere wa'n't no 
weddin', an' Guggle's mudder wus so distress' she sot down 
on a split-bottom cheer, an' cried all night. 

Nex' mornin' Guggle's mudder fought she would go 
down to de barn to feed de chickens. So she tuk some 
dough in a pan, an' as she push open de doh she hear 
sumpfin' go "H-i-s-s! h-i-s-s!" An' she look' behin' de 
doh, an' dere sot Guggle on de ol' goose' nes'. An' his 
mudder drop de pan ob dough, an' frow up her han's, an' 
couldn' say nuffin'. An' Guggle say: 

"H-i-s-s! h-i-s-s! Mudder, I'm a goose! You always 
say I'm a goose, an' I gwine hatch out OF Salt-an'-pepper's 
aigs ! " 



^ , 

I The ^mile^^ in order to exert its attractive force tvithout and its educative 
influence ivithin, must he thoroughly sincere and genuine^ suffusing the 
features from the interior^ not wilfully assumed and hovering thinly on 

I the surface.— Hky. W. R. Alger. 

^ ^ — - - - - - - - — — — 4 



346 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 
A TOMB IN GHENT. 



Adelaide Anne Procter. 



A SMILING look she had, a figure slight, 
With cheerful air, and step both quick and light ; 
A strange and foreign look the maiden bore, 
That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore ; 
Yet the blue, fearless eyes in her fair face. 
And her soft voice, told of her English race ; 
And ever, as she flitted to and fro. 
She sang (or murmured, rather) soft and low, 
Snatches of song, as if she did not know 
That she was singing, but the happy load 
Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'erflowed. 

And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell 

Prom the Laudate, that I knew so well. 

Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she 

Had learned such deep and solemn harmony. 

But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet 

To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet, 

'Neath which her young and innocent life had grown:; 

Would that my words were simple as her own. 

Many years since, an English workman v/ent 

Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent, 

Where English skill was prized ; nor toiled in vain ; 

Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain. 

He dwelt alone, — in sorrow or in pride, 

He mixed not with the workers by his side ; 



Man constitutes the ohject of art, and from this point he should be 
especially studied.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 34? 

He seemed to care but for one present joy, — 
To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy. 
Severe to all beside, yet for the child 
He softened his rough speech to soothings mild ; 
For him he smiled, with him each day he walked 
Through the dark, gloomy streets ; to him he talked 
Of home, of England, and strange stories told 
Of English heroes in the days of old. 

Dim with dark shadows of the ages past, 
St. Bayon stands, solemn and rich and vast; 
The slender pillars, in long vistas spread, 
Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead ; 
So high that, like a weak and doubting prayer, 
Ere it can float to the carved angels there, 
The silver-clouded incense faints in air. 
Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch, 
Would listen to the solemn chant or march ; 
Folding his little hands, his simple prayer 
Melted in childish dreams, and both in air : 
While the great organ over all would roll, 
Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul. 

Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow, 
That crept along the marble floor below. 
Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare, 
That told of patient toil and reverent care ; 
Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb, 
And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time. 
And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed 
On all around, only the windows glowed 
: _____ __ 4, 

The attitudes of the body correspond with the emotions of the mind.— 
Gexeyieye Stebbins. 

. . ^ 



348 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

With lilazoned glory, like the shields of light 
Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might. 
Watch upon heaven's battlements at night. 
Then all was shade ; the silver lamps that gleamed, 
Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seemed 
Like sparks of fire in the dark aisles to shine, 
Or trembling stars before each separate shrine. 
Grown half afraid, the child would leave them there, 
And come out, blinded by the noisy glare 
That burst upon him from the busy square. 

The church was thus his home for rest or play; 

And as he came and went again each day. 

The pictured faces that he knew so well 

Seemed to smile on him welcome and farewell. 

But holier, and dearer far than all, 

One sacred spot his own he loved to call ; 

Save at midday, half hidden by the gloom ; 

The j)eople call it the the White Maiden's Tomb : 

For there she stands ; her folded hands are pressed 

Together, and laid softly on her breast. 

As if she waited but a word to rise 

From the dull earth and pass to the blue skies ; 

Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath. 

As listening for the angel voice of death. 

ISTone know how many years have seen her so. 

Or what the name of her who sleeps below. 

And here the child would come, and strive to trace, 

Through the dim twilight, the pure, gentle face 

He loved so well, and here he oft would bring 

Some violet-blossom of the early spring. 



Art is a work of Zoue, ivhere sliine the Beautiful^ the Good^ and the 
^iVwe.— delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 849 

And, climbing softly by the fretted stand, 

Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand : 

Or, whispering a soft, loving message sweet. 

Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet. 

So, when the organ's pealing music rang, i 

He thought amid the gloom the maiden sang; 

With reverent, simple faith by her he knelt. 

And fancied what she thought, and what she felt; 

"Glory to God! " reechoed from her voice. 

And then his little spirit would rejoice ; 

Or when the Requiem sobbed upon the air. 

His baby tears dropped with her mournful prayer. 

So years fled on, while childish fancies past, 
The childish love and simple faith could last. 
The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame 
Of genius, like the light of heaven, came 
Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true) 
It touched his heart and lit his spirit, too. 
His father saw, and with a proud content 
Let him forsake the toil where he had spent 
His youth's flrst years, and on one happy day 
Of pride, before the old man passed away. 
He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears 
Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years 
Living and speaking to his very heart, — 
The low, hushed murmur at the wondrous art 
Of him who with young, trembling fingers made 
The great church organ answer as he played ; 
And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong. 



The dramatic art, based onthe science of human nature in the revelation 
of it4S inner states through outer signs, is the exercise of that power whereby 
man can indefinitely multiply his personality and life by divesting himself 
and entering into the characters, situations and experiences of those whom 
he beholds or reads of or creatively imagines.— Ri^y. W. R. Alger. 
'h • 



360 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Kusti with harmonious spirit-wings along, 

And thrill with master-power the breathless throng. 

The old man died, and years passed on, and still 
The young musician bent his heart and will 
To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown 
More dear to him, and even more his own ; 
And as he left it every night he prayed 
A moment by the archway in the shade. 
Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom 
Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb. 
One day a yoice floated so pure and free 
Above his music, that he turned to see 
What angel sang, aud saw before his eyes, 
What made his heart leap with a strange surprise, 
His own White Maiden, calm, and pure, and mild, 
As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled ; 
Her eyes raised up to heaven, her lips apart, 
And music overflowing from her heart 
But the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed 
No marble statue, but a living maid. 

Days passed ; each morning saw the maiden stand, 
Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand. 
Eager to study ; never weary, while 
Eepaid by the approving word or smile 
Of her kind master ; days and months fled on ; 
One day the pupil from the choir was gone ; 
Gone to take light, and joy, and youth once more 
Within the poor musician's humble door. 
Unmarked by aught save what filled every day, 



^ _ ______ ^ 

The heginning and the end of art are in God ; the genesis upon this earth 
I remounts to the cradle of creation.— Dels arte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 351 

Puty, and toil, and rest, years passed away: 

And now by the low archway in the shade j 

Beside her mother knelt a little maid, ' 

Who through the great cathedral learned to roam^ 

Climb to the choir, and bring her father home ; 

And stand, demure and silent by his side, 

Patient till the last echo softly died ; 

Then place her little hand in his, and go 

Down the dark winding stair to where below 

The mother, knelt within the gathering gloom 

Waiting and praying by the Maiden's tomb. 

So their life went, until, one winter's day. 

Father and child came there alone to pray. 

The mother, gentle soul, had fled away ! 

Their life was altered now ; but yet the child 

Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled. 

Half wondering why, when spring's fresh breezes came, 

To see her father was no more the same. 

And now each year that added grace to grace, 

Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's face. 

Brought a strange light in the musician's eyes. 

As if he saw some starry hope arise. 

Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies. 

It might be so : more feeble year by year, 

The wanderer to his resting-place drew near. 

One day the Gloria he could play no more, 

Echoed its grand rejoicing as of yore ; 

His hands were clasped, his w^eary head was laid 

Upon the tomb where the White Maiden prayed ; 

Where the child's love first dawned, his soul first spoke, 



The highest form of character determines its oicn expressions and does 
not leave them to he determined by the nature of the objects it happens to 
1 mcet.—'REY. W. R. Alger. 
^ . . 4* 



352 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. / 

The old man's heart there throbbed its last and broke. 
The grave cathedral that had nursed his youth, 
Had helped his dreaming and had taught him truth, 
Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears, 
And watched the sorrows and the joys of years, 
Had lit his fame and hope with sacred rays, 
And consecrated sad and happy days, 
Had blessed his happiness, and soothed his pain, 
Now took her faithful servant home again. 

He rests in peace. Some travelers mention yet 

An organist whose name they all forget. 

He has a holier and a nobler fame 

By poor men's hearthsj who love and bless the name 

Of a kind friend; and in low tones to-day 

Speak tenderly of him who passed away. 

Too poor to help the daughter of their friend, 

They grieved to see the little pittance end ; 

To see her toil and strive with cheerful heart, 

To bear the lonely orphan's struggling part; 

They grieved to see her go at last alone 

To English kinsmen she had never known. 

Deep in her heart she holds her father's name, 

And tenderly and proudly keeps his fame; 

And while she works with thrifty Belgian care. 

Past dreams of childhood float upon the air; 

Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn, 

That echoed through the old cathedral dim. 

When as a little child each day she went 

To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent. 



TSiven as God, art hides itself in light. There it rests, as inaccessible to 
vain curiosity as to egotistic speculation.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 353 

THE WEDDING-GOWN. 



Etta W. Pierce. 



BEING it from the oaken press ; full fifty years ago 
I sewed those seams, my heart all full of youth and 

hope and Joe — 
Joe, whose wife I was to be — my lover, strong and brown. 
Captain of the stanchest craft that sailed from Gloucester 

town. 
It seems a worthless thing to hold so carefully in store. 
This poor, old, faded bridal dress, which no bride ever wore ; 
Cut in the curious style of half a century ago. 
With scanty skirt and 'broidered bands — my own hands 

shaped it so. 
Niece Hester, spread it on my bed — my eyes grow blind with 

tears ; 
I touch its limp and yellow folds, and lo ! the long dead 

years 
Come trooping back like churchyard ghosts. This was my 

wedding-gown — 
'Twas made the year the equinox brought woe to Gloucester 

town. 

Ah, I remember well the night I walked the beach with 

him — 
The moon was rising just above the ocean's purple rim, ' 
And all the savage Cape Ann rocks shown in her mellow 

light; 
The time was spring, and heaven itself seemed close to us 

that night. 



The nearer to the central insertions of the muscles the initial impulses 
take effect, so much the longer the lines they flii^O, the acuter the angles 
they suhtend, the vaster the segments they cut and the areas they sweep. 
This suggests to the spectator's imagination, without his knowing the 
meaning or ground of it, a godlike dignity and greatness.— Ret. W. R. 
Alger. 
i. ^ 



354 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

We heard the cool waves beat the shore, the seabird's 
startled cry; 

Like spirits in the dark, we saw the coasters flitting by. 

High in their towers the beacons burned, like wintry em- 
bers red, 

From Ipswich, down the rough sea-line, to crag-girt Mar- 
blehead. 

'' I love you, Nan! " Joe said, at last, in his grave, simple 
way — 

I'd felt the v/ords a-coming, child, for many a long, glad 
day. 

I hung my head, he kissed me — oh, sweetest hour of life ! 

A stammering word, a sigh, and I was Joe's own promised 
wife. 

But fishing-folks have much to do; my lover could not stay — 
The gallant Gloucester fleet was bound to waters far away, 
Where wild storms swoop, and shattering fogs muster their 

dim, gray ranks. 
And spread a v/inding-sheet for men upon the fatal Banks. 
And he, my Joe, must go to reap the harvest of the deep, 
While I, like other women, staid behind to mourn and 

weep ; 
And I would see his face no more till autumn woods were 

brown. 
His schooner Nan was swift and new, the pride of Gloucester 

town ; 
He called her by my name. '"Tis sure to bring me luck," 

said Joe. 
She spread her wings, and through my tears I stood and 

watched her go. 



The transparent heauties of art cannot be contemplated except by that 
clearness of vision which belongs only to the pure in /leart.— Dels arte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 355 

The days grew hot and long ; I sewed the crisp and shming 

seams 
Of this, my wedding-gown, and dreamed a thousand happy 

dreams 
Of future years and Joe, while leaf and bud and sweet 

marsh-flower 
I fashioned on the muslin fine, for many a patient hour. 
In Gloucester wood the wild rose bloomed, and shed its 

sweets and died, 
And dry and tawny grew the grass along the marshes wide. 
The last stitch in my gown was set ; I looked across the sea — 
" Fly fast, oh, time, fly fast! " I said, ''and bring him 

home to me; 
And I will deck my yellow hair and don my bridal gown. 
The day the gallant fishing-fleet comes back to Gloucester 

town!" 

The rough skies darkened o'er the deep, loud blew the au- 
tumn gales; 

With anxious eyes the fishers' wives w^atched for the home- 
bound sails 

From Gloucester shore, and Eockport crags, lashed by the 
breakers dread. 

From cottage doors of Beverly, and rocks of Marblehead. 

Ah, child, with trembling hand I set my candle at the 
pane, 

With fainting heart and choking breath, I heard the dol- 
orous rain — 

The sea that beat the groaning beach with wild and thun- 
derous, shocks, 

The black death calling, calling from the savage equinox ; 

^ 4, 

T Tlie inner temper of the ^oul tend;^ to show itself in the outer expres- 
sion of the visage, and the outer expression tends, in return, to deepen and 
prolong in the traits of the charaxter the quality of the mood it reveals.— 

I Rev. W. R. Alger. 

4, . 



356 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The flap of sails, the crash of masts, or so it seemed to me, 
And cries of strong men drowning in the clutches of the 
sea. 

I never wore my wedding-gown, so crisp and fine and fair; 
I never decked with bridal flowers my pretty yellow hair, 
No bridegroom came to claim me when the autumn leaves 

were sere, 
For there was bitter wailing on the rugged coast that year ; 
And vain was further vigil from its rocks and beaches 

brown 
For never did the fishing-fleet sail back to Gloucester town. 

'Twas fifty years ago. There, child, put back the faded 
dress, 

My winding-sheet of youth and hope, into the oaken press. 

My life hath known no other joy, my heart no other glow, 

Feeble and worn, it still beats on in faithful love for Joe ; 

And, like some hulk cast on a shore by waters sore dis- 
tressed, 

I wait until he calls me from his own good place of rest. 

She woke at dawn and lifted up her head so old and gray, 
And stared across the sandy beach, and o'er the low blue bay. 
It was the hour when mists depart and midnight phantoms 

flee. 
The rosy sun was blushing red along the splendid sea. 
A rapture lit her face. " The bay is white with sails! " she 

cried, 
" They sweep it like the silver foam of waves at rising 

tide — 



What is usually given the name of instruction in the matter of art pro- 
ceeds only from an instinct hadly defined and arbitrarily interpreted.— 

DELSARTE. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 357 

Sails from an unknown sea. Oh, haste and bring my wed- 
ding-gown — 

It is the long-lost fishing-fleet come back to Gloucester 
town! 

And look ! his Nan leads all the rest. Dear Lord, I see 
my Joe ! 

He beckons from her shining deck — haste, friends, for I 
must go. 

The old, old light is in his eyes, the old smile on his lips ; 

All grand and pale he stands among the crowding, white- 
winged ships. 

This is our wedding-morn. At last the bridegroom claims 
his bride. 

Sweetheart;, I have been true ; my hand — here — take it ! " 
Then she died. 



WHAT WAS IT? 



Sidney Dayre. 



GUESS what he had in his pocket. 
Marbles and tops and sundry toys 
Such as always belong to boys, 
A bitter apple, a leathern ball ? — 
Not at all. 

What did he have in his pocket ? 
A bubble pipe, and a rusty screw, 
A brassy watch-key, broken in two, 



I Some few organisms seem a mass of electric sensibility, all alive, and^ 
in response to the touches of ideas within, giving out fitted tones and 
articulations through the whole diapason of humanity. Tills is a result of 
the complete comhination of instinctive sensibility in the mind and 

I developed elocutionary apparatus in the hod/y.—REY. W. R. Alger. 

!• — • ii 



358 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

A fish-hook in a tangle of string ? — 
N"o such thing. 

What did he have in his pocket ? 

Ginger-bread crumbs, a whistle he made, 
Buttons, a knife with a broken blade, 
A nail or two and a rubber gun ? — 
Neither one. 

What did he have in his pocket ? 
Before he knew it slyly crept 
Under the treasures carefully kept. 
And away they all of them quickly stole — 
'Twas a hole ! 



MEN'S WICKED WAYS. 



HE kissed me, and I knew 'twas wrong. 
For he was neither kith nor kin — 
Need one do penance very long 
For such a tiny little sin ? 

He pressed my hand ; that wasn't right — 
Why will men have such wicked ways ? 

It wasn't for a minute quite. 

But in it there were days and days. 

There's mischief in the moon, I know; 

I'm positive I saw her wink 
When I requested him to go — 

I meant it, too, I almost think. 



I 



Music, eloquence, and plastic art are the attributive specialties of an all 
which is taught nowhere and which has not even been defined.— Delsarte 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 359 

But, after all, I'm not to blame ; 

He took the kiss. I do think men 
Are quite without a sense of shame — 

I wonder when he'll call again ! 



THE BIRD AMONG THE BLOOMS. 



Marion Short. 



THE apple-blooms come falling down, 
Falling, falling, falling; 
A little bird among the blooms 

Keeps calling, calling, calling : 
" Come hither, Eob, come hither, May, 
Chee-chee, I've waited all the day 
To hear what Eobert has to say, 

P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 

Adown the lane the lovers come 

Slowly, clowly, slowly; 
He whispers something in her ear, 

Lowly, lowly, lowly. 
At length they reach the rustic seat. 
Then birdie sings: '' Eepeat, repeat, 
Eepeat for me those speeches sweet, 

P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 

Says Eobert, then: ''I love you. May, 

Dearly, dearly, dearly ! " 
Sings birdie, then: " He loves you. May, 

Clearly, clearly, clearly." 



^ : ^ 

All action from tJw distal extremities of the nerves is feverish, twitching, 1 
anxious, with a fidgety and wasteful expensiveness of force, while action \ 
from their central extremities is steady, harmonious^ commanding^ econ- 
omical of force.— Rey. W. R. Alger. I 

^ . -. ■ , ^ 



360 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Says she : ''I know not what to say ! " 
Says Robert: "Darling, name the day! '" 
Sings birdie, then: " Without delay ! 
P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 

The apple-blooms come falling down, 

Falling, falling, falling; 
The years have passed, but still the bird 

Keeps calling, calling, calling; 
'' Come hither, Rob, come hither. May, 
And bring the youngsters out to play, 
Chee-chee, I've waited all the day, 
P-r-r-link, p-r-r-link, chee-chee." 



A SISTERLY SCHEME. 



H. C. BuNNER. Arranged by Eliza A. McGill. 



[From Puck, by special permission.] 

AWAY up in the very heart of Maine there is a mighty 
lake among the mountains. Up in this wild region 
you will find a fashionable summer hotel, with electric bells, 
and seven-course dinners, and guests who dress three times 
a day. On the beach near this hotel, where the canoes 
were drawn up in a line, there stood one summer morning 
a curly-haired, fair young man — not so young either — whose 
cheeks were comfortably red as he looked first at his own 
canoe, high and dry, loaded with rods and landing-net and 
luncheon-basket, and then at another canoe fast disappear- 
ing down the lake, wherein sat a young man and Avoman. 



As long as the work of God has not been altered, disfigured, coarsened 
hy man under pretext of progress, he passes hy it, a cold and indifferent 
I spectator.— Delsarte. 

* ...^ ., ., ^ — .—..^ -. 



DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 361 

" Dropped again, Mr. Morpeth?" 

The young man looked up and saw a saucy face laughing 
at him. A girl was sitting on a string-piece of the dock. 

"Your sister,'' replied the young man, with dignity, 
"wastohaye gone fishing with me; but she remembered 
at the last moment that she had a prior engagement with 
Mr. Brown." 

''She hadn't," said the girl. "I heard them make it up 
last evening, after you went to bed." 

The young man clean forgot himself . 

" She's the most heartless coquette in the world ! " 

" She is all that," said the young person on the string- 
piece of the dock, "and more too. And yet, I suppose, 
you want her all the same ? ^^ 

"I'm afraid I do," said the young man^ miserably. 

"Well," said the girl, "I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Mor- 
peth. You've been hanging around Pauline for a year, and 
you are the only one of the men she keeps on a string who 
hasn't snubbed me. Now, if you want me to, I'll give you 
a lift." 

"A— a— what?" 

' ' A lift. You are wasting your time. Paulino has no 
use for devotion. It is a drug in the market with her — 
has been for five seasons. There is only one way to get 
her worked up. Two fellows tried it and they nearly got 
there ; but they weren't game enough for that. I think that 
you're game enough, and I'll tell you, — you've got to make 
her jealous." 

" Make her jealous of me ? " 

"No!" said the friend, with infinite scorn; " make her 
jealous of the other girl. ! but you men are so stupid ! " 



Every passion has its natural law of expression, and all these laws are 

related and consistent in an honest, earnest character, incoherent only in 

a discordant or hypocritical character.— Rey. W. R. Alger. | 

^ _ 4. 



362 DEL8ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The young man pondered a moment. 

"Your scheme is a good one. Only it involves the dis- 
covery of another girl. Well, doesn't it strike you that if I 
were to develop a sudden admiration for any one of these 
other young ladies Avhose charms I have hitherto neglected, 
it would come tardy off, lack artistic verisimilitude, so to 
speak ? " 

"Eather," was Miss Flossy's prompt reply; " especially 
as there isn't one of them fit to flirt with." 

''Well, then, where am I to find this girl ?" 

" What's the matter with — me ?" 

''With you?" 

" Yes! Perhaps I am not good looking enough?" 

" You are good looking enough," replied Mr. Morpeth, 
recovering himself, "for anything — " and he threw a con- 
vincing emphasis into the last word as he took what he 
called his first real inspection of his adored one's junior — 
" but aren't you a trifle — ^young ? " 

" How old do you suppose I am ? Eighteen years old." 

"Eighteen years old!" said the young man. "The 
deuce ! W^ell, what's your plan of campaign? I am to dis- 
cover you ? " 

" Yes," said Miss Flossy, calmly, " and to flirt with me 
like fun." 

" And may I ask what attitude you are to take when you 
are — discovered ? " 

" Certainly, I am going to dangle you ! " 

"To dangle me?" 

" As a conquest, don't you know. Let you hang around 
and laugh at you." 

"Oh, indeed! 



r 1 

It is in the solitude, which we disdainfully abandon, that the supreme 
artist works and produces his most adorable master-pieces.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 363 

" There, don't be wounded in your masculine pride. You 
might as well face the situation. You don't think that 
Pauline is in love with you, do you ? " 

" No! " groaned the young man, 

''But you've got a lot of money. Mr. Brown has got 
lots more. You're eager. Brown is coy. That's the rea- 
son that Brown is in the boat and you are on the cold, cold 
shore, talking to little sister. Now if little sister jumps at 
you, why, she's simply taking big sister's leavings; it's all in 
the family, anyway, and there's no jealousy, and Pauline 
can devote her whole mind to Brown. There, don't look so 
limp. You men are so silly. Now, after you've asked me 
to marry you — " 

" Oh, I'm to ask you to marry me ? " 

" Certainly. You needn't look frightened, I won't ac- 
cept you. But you go around like a wet cat, and mope, 
and hang on worse than over. Then big sister will see that 
she can't afford to take that sort of thing from little sister, 
and then there's your chance." 

" Oh, there's my chance, is it ? " 

" There's your only chance," said Miss Flossy, with de- 
cision. 

Mr. Morpeth meditated. He looked at the lake, where 
there w^as no longer sign or sound of the canoe, and he 
looked at Miss Flossy, who sat, calm and careless, on the 
string-piece of the dock. 

" I don't know how feasible," he began. 

"It's feasible," said Miss Flossy. '' Of course, Pauline 
will write to mamma, and mamma will write and scold me. 
But she's got to stay in New York, and nurse papa's gout ; 
and the Miss Kedwingtons are all the chaperones we've got 



In an ascending movement of the arm the hand falls from the wrist; 
when the arm descends^ the hand points upward.— Delsailte. 



364 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

up here, and tliey don't amount to anything, so I don't 
care. Mr. Morpeth, I'm two years behind the time-table, 
and I've got to make for liberty or die. And besides," she 
added, "if you are nice, it needn't be such an awful 
trouble." 

Mr. Morpeth laughed. 

" I'll try to make it as little of a bore as possible," he said, 
extending his hand. The girl didn't take it. 

"Don't make any mistake," she cautioned him, search- 
ing his face with her eyes; "this isn't to be any little-girl 
affair. Little sister doesn't want any kind, elegant, super- 
cilious encouragement from big sister's young man. It's 
got to be a real flirtation, devotion no end to it, and you've 
got to keep your end way, way, way up ! " 

The young man smiled. 

" I'll keep my end up," he said; "but are you certain 
that you can keep your's up?" 

" Well, I think so! Pauline will raise an awful row; but 
if she goes too far, I'll tell my age, and hers too." 

Mr. Morpeth looked in Miss Flossy's calm face. Then 
he extended his hand once more. 

" It's a bargain, so far as I am concerned," he said. 

This time a small and soft hand met his with a firm and 
friendly pressure. 

" And I'll refuse you," said Miss Flossy. 

Within a few weeks, Mr. Morpeth found himself en- 
tangled in a flirtation such as he never dreamed of. Miss 
Flossy's scheme had succeeded only too brilliantly. The 
whole hotel was talking about the outrageous behavior of 



Pass suddenly from one great emotion to another. All great actors do. 
-Delsarte. 



DELS A RTF RECITA TION BOOK, 365 

'' that little Bel ton girl " and Mr. Morpeth, who certainly 
ought to know better. 

Mr. Morpeth had carried out all his instructions. Be- 
fore the week was out, he found himself giving the most 
life-like imitation of an infatuated lover that ever delighted 
old gossips of a summer resort. And yet he had done only 
what Flossy told him to do. He got his first lesson just 
about the time that Flossy, in the privacy of their apart- 
ment, informed her elder sister that if she. Flossy, found 
Mr. Morpeth's society agreeable, it was nobody's concern 
but her own, and that she was prepared to make some in- 
teresting additions to the census statistics if anybody 
thought different. The lesson opened his eyes. 

'' Do you know," she said,'' that it wouldn't be a bit of 
a bad idea to telegraph to New York for some nice candy 
and humbly present it for my acceptance." 

He telegraphed to New York and received, in the course 
of four or five days, certain marvefe of sweets in a miracle 
of an upholstered box. The next day he found her on the 
veranda flinging the bonbons on the lawn for the children 
to scramble for. 

'' Awfully nice of you to send me these things," she said, 
languidly, but loud enough for the men around her to 
hear, for she had men around her already; " but I never 
eat sweets, you know. Here, you little mite in the blue 
sash, don't you want this pretty box to put your doll's 
clothes in ? " 

And Maillard's finest bonbonniere went to a yellow- 
haired brat of three. But this was the slightest and light- 
est of her caprices. 

And did such conduct pass unchallenged ? No. Paul- 
. ^ 

Notice the different ways in which people scold. The schoolmaster moves 
his head from above downward ; the boy threatens back, tossing his head 
wpi(;ard.— Delsarte. | 

4- * 



366 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

ine scolded, raged, and raved. She wrote to mamma. 
Mamma wrote back that she could not leave papa. His 
gout grew worse. Pauline scolded ; the flirtation went on ; 
and the people at the big hotel enjoyed it immensely. And 
there was more to come. Four weeks had passed. Mr. 
Morpeth was hardly on speaking terms with the elder Miss 
Belton ; and with the younger Miss Bel ton he was on terms 
which the hotel gossips characterized as " simply scandal- 
ous." Brown glared at him when they met, and he glared 
at Brown. Brown was having a hard time of it. Miss 
Belton the elder was not pleasant of temper in those trying 
days. 

"And now," said Miss Flossy to Mr. Morpeth, "it's 
time you proposed to me, Muffets." 

They were sitting on the hotel veranda, in the evening 
darkness. No one was near them, except an old lady in a 
Shaker chair. 

" There is Mrs. Melby. She's pretending to be asleep 
but she isn't. She's just waiting for us. Now walk me 
up and down and ask me to marry you so that she can hear 
you. It'll be all over the hotel inside of an hour. Paul- 
ine will just rage." 

With this pleasant prospectus before him, Mr. Morpeth 
marched Miss Flossy Belton up and down the long veranda. 
He had passed Mrs. Melby three times before he was able 
to say, in a choking voice : 

" Flossy, I — I — I love you!" 

Flossy's voice was not uncertain nor choking. It rang out 
clear and silvery in a peal of laughter. 

" Why, of course you do, MufEets, and I wish you didn't. 
That's what makes you so stupid all the time." 



Lower the voice to fix attention.— Delsarte. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 367 

'' But — " said Mr. Morpeth, vaguely; '' but I — " 

'' But, you silly boy," returned Miss Flossy; and she 
added in a swift aside : ' ' You haven't asked me to marry you ! " 

"W — w — w — will you be my wife?" stammered Mr. 
Morpeth. 

"No," said Miss Flossy, " I will not. You are too utterly 
ridiculous. The idea of it! No, Muffets, you are charm- 
ing in your present capacity ; but you are not to be consid- 
ered seriously." 

They strolled on into the gloom. 

" That's the first time," he said, with a feeling of having 
only the ghost of a breath left in his lungs, '' that's the first 
time I ever asked a woman to marry me." 

" I should think so, from the way you said it. And you 
were beautifully rejected, weren't you. Now look at Mrs. 
Melby, will you. She's scudding off to spread the news." 

And before Mr. Morpeth went to bed, he was aware of 
the fact that every man and woman in the hotel knew that 
he had " proposed and been beautifully rejected." 

Two sulky men and one sulky woman and one radiant 
girl started out in two canoes, reached certain fishing 
grounds and began to cast for trout. 

"You have done everything I have wanted you to do," 
said Flossy; "but you have not saved my life yet, and I 
am going to give you a chance." 

Before he knew what had happened, Morpeth was swim- 
ming toward the shore, holding Flossy's arm and fighting 
for life in the icy waters of a Maine lake. He struggled up 
on shore with her, and when he got breath enough, he 
burst out : ^^ ' 



The stronger the emotion^ the higher the shoulders should he raised.- 
Delsarte. 



368 DEL8ARTB RECITATION BOOK. 

'« Why did you do it? It was wicked! " 

''There," she said, as she reclined composedly in his 
arms, " that will do. I don't want to be scolded." 

At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Morpeth presented 
himself at the door of the parlor attached to the apartments 
of the Belton sisters. Miss Belton senior was just coming 
out of the room. She received his inquiries after her sis- 
ter's health with a white face and a quivering lip. 

" I should think, Mr. Morpeth," she began," that you had 
gone far enough in playing with the feelings of a m-m- 
mere child, and — that — oh, I have no words to express my 
contempt for you ! " 

And in a most unladylike rage Miss Pauline swept down 
the corridor. She had left the door ajar behind her. 
Morpeth heard a voice, weak but cheery, addressing him 
from the far end of the parlor. 

" You've got her," it said. " She's crazy mad. She'll 
make up to you to-night, see if she doesn't." 

Mr. Morpeth looked up and down the long corridor. It 
was empty. He pushed the door open and entered. Flossy 
was lying on the sofa, pale but bright-eyed. 

"You can get her now," she whispered, as he knelt be- 
side her. 

"Flossy," he said, "don't you know I love you? Oh, 
Flossy, is it possible that you don't understand ?" 

Flossy stretched out two weak arms and put them around 
Mr. Morpeth's neck. 

"Why have I had you in training all summer ?" said 
she. " Did you think it was for Pauline ? " 

: A 



Vitality is expressed 'by raising the outer part of the eyebrows - 
Delsarte. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 369 

THE WAY TO ARCADY. 



H. C. BUNNER. 



. [By permission of the author.] 

/^H, what^s the way to Arcady, 
^■^^ To Arcady, to Arcady; 
Oh, what's the way to Arcady, 
Where all the leaves are merry? 

Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 
The spring is rustling in the tree — 
The tree the wind is blowing through — 

It sets the blossoms flickering white, 
I knew not skies could burn so blue 

Nor any breezes blow so light. 
They blow an old-time way for me, 
Across the world to Arcady. 

Oh, what's the way to Arcady? 
Sir Poet, with the rusty coat. 
Quit mocking of the song-bird's note. 
How have you heart for any tune, 
You with the way-worn russet shoon? 
Your scrip, a-swinging by your side, 
Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide, 
I'll br!m it well with pieces red, 
If you will tell the way to tread. 

Oh, I am bound for Arcady, 
And if you but keep pace with me 
You tread the way to Arcady. 

And where away lies Arcady, 
And long yet may the journey be? 



370 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Ah, that (quoth he) I do not know — 
Across the clover and the snow — 
Across the frost, across the flowers — 
Through summer seconds and winter hours. 
IVe trod the way my whole life long, 

And know now where it may be; 
My guide is but the stir to song, 
That tells me I can not go wrong, 

Or clear or dark the pathway be 

Upon the road to Arcady, 

But how shall I do who cannot sing? 

I was wont to sing once on a time — 
There is never an echo now to ring 

Remembrance back to the trick of rhyme, 

Tis strange you cannot sing (quoth he), 
The folk all sing in Arcady. 

But how may he find Arcady 
Who hath nor youth nor melody? 

What, know you not, old man (quoth he) — 
Your hair is white, your face is wise — 
That love must kiss that mortal's eyes 

Who hopes to see fair Arcady? 

No gold can buy you entrance there; 

But beggared love may go all bare — 

No wisdom won with weariness ; 

But love goes in with folly's dress — 

No fame that wit could ever win; 

But only Love may lead love in 
To Arcady, to Arcady. 

Ah, woe to me, through all my days 
Wisdom and wealth I both have got, 

And fame and name, and great men's praise; 
But love, ah; love! I have it not. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 371 

There was a time, when time was new — 

But far away, and half forgot — 
I only know her eyes were blue; 

But love — I fear I knew it not. 
We did not wed, for lack of gold, 
And she is dead, and I am old. 
All things have come since then to me, 
Save love, ah, love! and Arcady. 

Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he), 
My way^s for love and Arcady. 

But you, you fare alone, like me; 

The gray is likewise in your hair. 

What love have you to lead you there, 
To Arcady, to Arcady? 

Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; 

My true companion's memory, 
With love he fills the spring-time air; 

With love he clothes the winter tree. 
Oh, past this poor horizon's bound 

My song goes straight to one who stands--^ 
Her face all gladdening at the sound — 

To lead me to the spring-green lands, 

To wander with enlacing hands. 
The songs within my breast that stir 
Are all of her, are all of her. 
My maid is dead long years (quoth he), 
She waits for me in Arcady. 

Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, 

To Arcady, to Arcad}^; 
Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, 

Where all the leaves are merry. 



372 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE SERVANT QUESTION. 

Stanley Schell. 



Scene: Intelligence Office, Mrs. Anderson's, Lexington 
Avenue. 

[Enter hurriedly Mrs. Fitzhugh-M orris looking -flushed and 
nervous. Starts across stage to centre where Mrs. Anderson 
is supposed to be sitting at desk; holts abruptly on seeing 
an acquaintance, and smiles half-heartedly; puts out hand 
for fashionable shake.] 

A/TY dear Mrs. Nichols-Delancy, howdy? 

[High-hand shake; face brightens; sinks into chair.] 

A cook? Me too. A whole year? Can it be possible? 
I have felt myself lucky when mine stayed six months. 
Talk about your down-trodden poor! It's the down- 
trodden rich who need all the sympathy. You should 
have seen my kitchen this morning. Have you secured 
one? That one over there? Oh, how could you! 

I — I — really, I — could never eat the things she cooked. 
Her face? — ugh! — Have you a good clock in your kitchen? 
Eh-heh? [Nod head and smile.] You'd better turn its face 
to the wall. If your clock once sees her it will never go 
again. [Lean back and laugh until tears seem to come.] 

You have to get that kind? Your husband a sad flirt? 
Really? Well, I'd give him something better to flirt with. 
Wouldn't do? tut, tut. Try it once. He won't spend so 
much time at his club, if you do. Yes, I've tried it, and it 
pays. Men are such simpletons. Always caught by a pretty 
face. It pays to have lots of pretty faces around you. 
Don't think so? You funny child. Well, take her along 
quick. I'm glad she's not mine. Good-bye. Come 
soon and see me. Ah, yes, do! You have no httle ones 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 373 

to bother you. Thanks, awfully; I shall expect you. 
Good-bye. [Shake hands with sweet smile. Turn to 
Mrs. Anderson; look at watch, begin to act anxious. Look 
bright suddenly -as if Mrs. Anderson had discovered you. 
Move toward Mrs. Anderson.] 

Good afternoon, Mrs. Anderson. No, another cook. 
[Nod head.] That last girl! You don^t remember? Why, 
yes you do. I got her here only last week and you said 
she was a jewel — a jewel! [Indignantly.] I remember 
your very words. Yes, I do. And she gets drunk. Yes, 
drunk every night. Astonished? You knew as well as 
could be she was that sort of girl, for Mrs. Chauncey says 
she sent her away the week before I got her and — do I 
know Mrs. Chauncey? I think I do, for she's my husband's 
sister. Ah — you do remember Katie now? Thought 
you would. And she had a book on the ^^ Rights 
of Servants.'' She started reading it on the train going 
out. Asked me if she would have a brass bedstead to 
sleep in, lace curtains to her windows, a Persian rug, 
gas to read with and a parlor for company. 

By the time we reached New RocheJle she seemed all 
wrought up and that night she began to show herself. 
Told me she was as good as I, if she did cook, and that 
she'd have many more privileges if she stayed. It was 
awful. [Begin to look for handkerchief to wipe away tears.] 
Why, I've lost, yes, I've lost my handkerchief — the one 
Charley gave me when we were married. [Fuss all around, 
looking on floor, chairs, etc., as if in hopes of finding it.] 
Real lace — Point [looks under chair] d'esprit — Brussels. 
[Act as if thinking.] Let me see, I had it on the train, 
and in the car, for I took it out to dust my face when I 
saw Mrs. Jordan looking at me; and I had it in my hand 
when I went into Madam Recamier's. I distinctly remem- 
ber laying it on the counter. Did I pick it up? Yes, no, 



374 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

I must have left it there. [Sorrowfully.] Oh, I can^t afford 
to lose it. Have you a 'phone? So glad. But send me 
in a girl quick. [Go L., ring up, then say] 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — 
Nineteenth, please. — ^Yes, 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — Nineteenth in an 
awful hurry. [Hold receiver to ear and converse with Mrs, 
Anderson.] Be sure and tell her about the country. No, 
^I know, but they always say anything outside of New 
York is country. Yes, strong and good-looking. [Turn 
to 'phone.] Is this 2— 2— 3— 6— Nineteenth? No? Please 
hang up. [Shake bell ringer.] Central, Central, please 
give me 2 — 2 — 3 — 6 — Nineteenth. No, you didn't. It 
was wrong. Yes, I told her to hang up. [Turn toward 
Mrs. Anderson, who has entered with a girl. Look at 
servant and begin to open mouth as if to speak, when servant 
interrupts.] 

Yes, I wish a girl to do cooking. Plain cooking. My 
husband, his mother, myself and five children. That's 
enough? Why, you surely don't object to children? 
No? Old lady? Why, she's not old. She always goes 
away every summer. Place wouldn't suit you? Oh, 
just wait a moment, please. [Turn to 'phone.] Is this 
2—2 — 3— 6— Nineteenth? Is it Madam Recamier's? I'm 
so glad. Will you ask Madam to come to the 'phone? 
Yes, please. [Turn to speak to servant who has gone out. 
Look surprised to find her gone.] 

Well, I never, — she didn't even have the politeness 
to wait a second. There you are, Mrs. Anderson, what 
shall I do? It's my mother-in-law this time. I'm glad 
for once it's not the children. [Turn to 'phone.] Is this 
Madam Recamier? Yes? Mrs. Fitzhugh-Morris. Fitz- 
hugh-Morris — Fitzhugh — Yes. Hold the 'phone a moment, 
please. [Turn to Mrs. Anderson.] You must find one — 
I want to catch that 2:30 train home. [Turn to 'phone 
again.] No, Madam, I was talking to some one else. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 375 

Pardon me a moment [turns to Mrs, Anderson]. You 
must, to take the place of that awful Katie. Do hurry. 
My husband brings a friend to dinner, and I must have 
one. [Turn to 'phone.] Madam, hello. You remember 
I was in your shop this morning. You don^t? Why, yes, 
near the window — bleached — yes, roots touched up. 
Yes, blonde. That's right. Well, I put my handkerchief 
on the counter — just a bit of lace — left it there — yes^ 
I'll wait. [Turn toward new girl.] Good afternoon. Ever 
lived out before? General housework? Long in last 
place? Two weeks? Didn't dress the ducks to suit 
the lady? Dressed them in clothes? Ha ha, ha ha. I 
beg your pardon, but I really couldn't help it — dressed 
the ducks in clothes? Did she dismiss you for that? 
No? Didn't like the way you aired the baby? How? 
You aired it good out of the window? Shook it? Like 
the bedclothes? Oh, dear, dear, dear! I feel as though 
I'll die. [Hold hand over heart and laugh heartily. 
Dressed ducks in clothes and shook baby out of window 
to air it — ha, ha, ha, ha — no, I couldn't take 3^ou under 
any circumstances — Sorry. [Turn to 'phone.] Waiting, 
Central, yes. 

[Turn and laugh heartily.] Oh, dear, I must tell that 
to Charley. [Bow slowly off R.] 

Did Mrs. Anderson send you to me? You wish a place 
as cook? Suburbs? Oh, no, just about thirteen miles 
out. Oh, no, it's more; I wouldn't live out an unlucky 
number of miles either. Ten minutes by train. It's 
lovely — when you get there. Can see the boats go up 
and down Long Island Sound. Lovely all the time. 
Six dollars a week. Assist laundress on Mondays. A 
waitress and an upstairs girl. Yes, gas in kitchen. No, 
lamps for girls' room. One afternoon every other Thurs- 
day, and one afternoon every other Sunday. Evenings? 



376 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

I never give any of them out. I often have company 
and need refreshments, etc. Not go? Oh, I wish you 
would; I hke you, and think we would get along. No? 
Please try. You won^t? [Watch her go. Stand des- 
pondent; turn to ^phone.] Yes, it would have seemed a 
long time, only IVe been busy. Find it? Thank heaven. 
No, I love it because my husband gave it to me when 
we were married. Yes, I am sentimental — just a little. 
[Laugh a little in ^ phone.] Send it here? That's so kind 
of you. No. 79 Lexington. Thank you, so much. Good- 
bye. [Hang up receiver, turn to girl waiting off L.] 

Place as cook? [Smile a sickly smile.] Yes, five, but 
they're all small. You won't waste my — [Watch girl go. 
Sigh deeply J drop into a chair and look round as if dis- 
tracted.] 

[Suddenly look up and off front, bow.] 

Good afternoon. Yes. Can you cook? At Mrs. Grady's, 
on Forty-seventh Street? Away now? Oh, very well, 
I can look that up later. Six dollars a week. Yes, assist 
laundress on Mondays. Husband, mother-in-law — five 
children. Like children? I'm so glad. What street? Oh, 
I live just a little way out of city. About thir — fourteen 
miles and ten minutes' walk from station. Lovely. You 
like the country? That's just lovely. Well, then consider 
yourself engaged. Not so fast? Have I a dog? Oh, 
yes, two of them — Little Fido, who lives in the house; 
and Rolfe, a great Dane, who lives out of doors. You 
wouldn't work in a place where a dog is kept in the house? 
Why, he never goes into the kitchen. No difference? 
You wouldn't go? Oh — please change your mind. Please 
do. Fido is a lovely dog, and never gives — you won't 
go under any — You won't 

[Watch girl go. Sit and sigh. Look up a second, then 
down. Look at watch, spring to feet.] 




EVE OF ST. AGNES. 
By D. Maclise. 




"Again I caught my father's voice.' 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 377 

I must hurry. But I can't go without a cook. We 
shall have to go supperless to bed — and the baby — how 
the little darling must miss me. 

[Look up suddenly; let face light up with a happy, relieved 
smile,] 

Are you looking for a place? Never went out to cook 
before? Brought up on a farm? Been sick? So sorry. 
Want to try such work until you get stronger? In the 
country? Glad? Yes? So am I. Six dollars a week 
and two afternoons out a month. Five children. The 
more the merrier? Oh, I could kiss you. You don't 
mind dogs? Love them? Glad of the change from 
city life and work? Will come at once? Please say 
yes [look at watch]. Do. We have just ten minutes to 
make our train. Your trunk? Leave that until to-mor- 
row. My husband will get it for you. What's that? 
You'll go now. Oh, I'm so happy. You like me? Then 
we'll get along together. Come along; we'll have to 
run for the train. [Exit.] 



IN BOHEMIA. 



John Boyle O'Reilly. 



T 'D rather live in Bohemia than in any other land; 

For only there are the values true, 
And the laurels gathered in all men's view. 
The prizes of traffic and state are won 
By shrewdness of force or by deeds undone; 
But fame is sweeter without the feud. 
And the wise of Bohemia are never shrewd. 

Here pilgrims stream with a faith sublime 
From every class and clime and time, 



378 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Aspiring only to be enrolled 

With the names that are writ in the book of gold; 

And each one bears in mind or hand 

A palm of that dear Bohemian land. 

The scholar first, with his book; a youth 
Aflame with the glory of harvested truth; 
A girl with a picture, a man with a play, 
A boy with a wolf he has modeled in clay; 
A smith with a marvelous hilt and sword, 
A player, a king, a plowman, a lord — 
And the player is king when the door is past, 
The plowman is crowned, and the lord is last! 

I'd rather fail in Bohemia, than win in another land; 

There are no titles inherited there. 

No hoard of hope for the brainless heir; 

No guilded dullard native born 

To stare at his fellow with leaden scorn, 

Bohemia has none but adopted sons. 

Its limits, where fancy's bright stream runs; 

Its honors, not garnered for thrift or trade, 

But for beauty and truth men's souls have made. 

To the empty hearts in a jeweled breast 
There is value, maybe, in a purchased crest; 
But the thirsty of souls soon learn to know 
The moistureless froth of the social show: 
The vulgar sham of the pompous feast. 
Where the heaviest purse is the highest priest; 
The organized charity, scrimped and iced. 
In the name of a cautious, statistical Christ; 
The smile restrained, the respectable cant 
Where a friend in need is a friend in want ; 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 3?9 

Where the only aim is to keep afloat, 

And a brother may drown with a cry in his throat. 

Oh, I long for the glow of a kindly heart and the grasp 

of a friendly hand ! 
And I'd rather Uve in Bohemia than in any other land! 



DOROTHY'S MUSTNTS. 



Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 



''T'M sick of 'mustn'ts/'' said Dorothy D; 

^^Sick of ^mustnHs' as I can be. 
From early morn till the close of day, 
I hear a ^mustn't' and never a ^may. ' 
It's ^You mustn't lie there like a sleepy head;' 
And ^You mustn't sit up when it's time for bed/ 
^You mustn't cry when I comb your curls;' 
^You mustn't play mth those noisy girls;' 
^You mustn't be silent when spoken to;' 
^You mustn't chatter as parrots do;' 
^You mustn't be pert and you mustn't be proud;' 
^You mustn't giggle or laugh aloud;' 
^You mustn't rumple your nice clean dress;' 
^You mustn't nod in place of a yes.' 

^^So all day long the ^mustn'ts' go, 

Till I dream at night of an endless row 

Of goblin ^mustn'ts,' with great big eyes 

That stare at me in shocked surprise — 

Oh ! I hope I shall live to see the day 

When some one will say to me, ^Dear, you may;' 

For I'm sick of ^mustn'ts,'" said Dorothy D; 

^^Sick of ^mustn'ts' as I can be." 



380 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

WHAT WILLIAM HENRY DID. 



J. L. Harbour. 



TAT' HAT William Henry would do next was a problem 
that kept his aunt^ Dorinda Hatch, in a state of 
constant unrest, for, as she expressed it, ^^What William 
Henry does next is always so much worse than what he 
did last that I can't be prepared for it, no matter what it is/' 

She had often been heard to add, ^^If he wasn't the only 
child of my only sister and she dead and in her grave, I'd 
pack him off to some orphan asylum, where he'd be likely 
to get the discipline I'm not able to give him." 

There was nothing mean or vicious about William Henry; 
but he was woefully heedless, and had a surprising capacity 
for mischief, although only ten years of age and hardly 
as large as the average boy of eight. 

One day in May Aunt Dorinda fell to worrying because 
William Henry had led a blameless life for three whole 
days. 

''When William Henry doesn't do anything upsetting 
for three whole days he's either going to come down with 
a sick spell or he's going to do something extraordinary," 
she said. 

The day was rainy, and William Henry was up in the 
attic, examining the varied contents of some old trunks. 
He had probed to the bottom of a small red chest contain- 
ing nothing but old papers and letters and books, when he 
picked up a faded yellow pasteboard card about six or 
eight inches long by five or six in width. On the card in 
large black letters was printed: 



SMALL POX HERE. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 381 

On the back of this gruesome reHc was written in Aunt 
Dorinda^s angular hand: ^'This card was tacked to my 
Father's front door from Jan. 10th, 1845, to Apr. 16th, 
1845 durin whitch time my father and two of my ants and 
two brothers and one sister had smallpox. One ant died 
but all the others got well.'' 

William Henry took the card to the one cobwebbed 
window of the attic, brushed the dust from it with his sleeve 
and slowly spelled out the words. Then he buttoned the 
card under his jacket. 

'^I'm going to show that card to Jack Hooper," he 
thought. ^^ He was bragging the other day that he had had 
two uncles die of yellow fever, and he acted as if he didn't 
believe it when I said I'd had an aunt die of smallpox. I'll 
show him if I didn't ! I wish I could find somethmg up here 
to prove how one- of my great-uncles was blown up in a 
boiler explosion — he acted as if he didn't believe that 
either." 

Unable to find such evidence, and the sun having sud- 
denly shone forth, William Henry went down-stairs, where 
his aunt set him to sweeping the rain and some drifted 
cherry blossoms from the front porch. He had begun to per- 
form this task when the card slipped from under his jacket 
to the floor of the porch. William Henry picked it up, 
punched a little hole in it and hung it on a nail driven 
into a pillar of the porch, on which his aunt daily hung the 
card to call the iceman. 

When the front porch was swept, the side porch needed 
William Henry's attention. Just as he had finished 
sweeping it Dan Covel came running up to him and reported 
that the heavy rains had caused the river to rise like 
" all fury," so that there was the delightful prospect of an 
overflow in the lower part of the town. At this exciting 
news William Henry hurried away to the river with Dan. 



382 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The forgotten smallpox card was left hanging on the 
post. 

An hour later Aunt Dorinda was seated by an upper 
front window sewing^ when she saw old lady Draper come 
in at the front gate. 

^^Dear me!^' she thought, ^^I hope she hasn^t come to 
stay all day. She's deaf as a post, and it hoa^rses me all up 
to screech to her the v/ay I have to.'' 

But when she went dov/n to the front door to admit her 
visitor she was amazed to see the old lady turn on the 
lower step of the porch and go hurrying toward the gate^ 
screaming in affright: 

'^Go back, go back, 'Rindy Hatch! Don't you come 
nigh me! Oh, my land! I'll ketch it, sure as shootin'! 
Go back!'' 

^^Well, I'll be switched! If that don't beat me! I've 
heard before that there was insanity in her family. It's 
saved me screaming my lungs out, anyhow!" 

She had hardly taken up her sewing when she saw a man, 
unmistakably an agent of some sort, enter the gate. 

^^I'll make short shift of him. I don't want any book, 
or furniture polish, or patent nutmeg-grater, or soap, or 
imperishable lamp-wick, or nothing ! And I'll tell him so ! " 

But just as she opened the door the man turned and 
fled so precipitately that he slipped on the wet boards of 
the walk and fell headlong. He sprang up with all possible 
speed, and the latch of the gate not working readily, he 
jumped over the fence and ran down the road without a 
word. 

'^Well, upon my word! I wish I could get rid of all 
agents that easy. I declare if the fellow isn't running still !" 

Half an hour later an extremely dirty tramp came 
shuffling doWn the road and stopped at the gate. Aunt 
Dorinda watched him from her seat by the window, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 383 

intending to call out that she had nothing for him as 
soon as he was near enough to hear. He came half way 
up the walk, but when she raised the window he, too, 
turned and fled without even looking back. 

^^ There must be something skeery about me; 1^11 see.^' 
She w^nt to a mirror in the room and looked at herself. 

^^I don^t see but what I look as I always look. I know 
I'm rather homely, but I never knew that I was homely 
enough to scare a tramp out of his senses. '^ 

Soon after the disappearance of the tramp, she saw Teddy 
Jaynes, a boy of thirteen, come up the road. When he 
reached the gate he began to scream at the top of his 
voice, ^^S-a-a-a-y! S-a-a-y there! Mis' H-a-a-tch!'' 

Mrs. Hatch raised the window, whereupon Teddy 
threw a good-sized stone with such violence that it dented 
the front door badty. ^'There's a note tied to the stone,'' 
he called out. 

^^What do you mean by acting so? Come here and tell 
me!" 

^^Not much I won't! Ma said for me not to go inside 
the gate or I might ketch it! She said for me to run like 
lightning soon as I'd thrown the note, and I'm going 
to!" and away he sped. 

^^ Another lunatic abroad," said Mrs. Hatch grimly, 
as she went down-stairs to get the note. Smoothing out 
the crumpled bit of paper, she read: 

^^Dear Mrs. Hatch: AVe are very sorry to know of the 
dreadful affliction that has been visited upon you and 
would be only too glad to do anything in our power, if 
there was anything we could do at such a time. We 
are extremely anxious to know who has it, and if it is 
Mr. Hatch will you please hang a red cloth out of your 
upper south window, which we can see plainly from our 
side porch. If it is William Henry please hang out a 



384 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

white cloth, and if it is your dear old mother hang out 
both a white and a red cloth. You can't tell how sorry 
we are for you, and we sincerely hope that all will come 
out well. Mary C. Jaynes.'' 

^^Well, I'm beat! I've no more idea than the man in 
the moon what Mary Jaynes means ! I'd like to see myself 
hanging out red and white rags without knowing what 
I'm hanging them out for! I know what I'll do! I'll go 
straight down to the Jaynes's and ask them what they 
mean, that's what I'll do!" 

A few moments later Mrs. Hatch went down the road, 
holding her calico skirts well up out of the mud. She 
looked anxious and irritated. 

Teddy Jaynes was swinging on the front gate, and 
when he saw her approach he sped into the house. The 
next moment half a dozen frightened Jaynes faces appeared 
at the front window. 

Mrs. Hatch had just entered the gate when Mrs. Jaynes 
raised a window and said, in a tone of entreaty: 

'^Please don't come any nigher, Mrs. Hatch! If there 
is anything we can do for you, say so, and we'll do it 
gladly, but don't expose us all by coming into the house!" 

^^ Nonsense! I'm coming in to find out what you meant 
by sending me that silly note! I'm going to " 

She started toward the house, when not only the window 
but all of the shades were«pulled down, and all the response 
she got to her knocking on the door came from Mrs. Jaynes, 
who seemed to be speaking from some place of safety and 
seclusion up-stairs. 

^^Go away, Mrs. Hatch! I want to be neighborly and 
do what's right, but I can't and won't have you come 
into the house. Please go away!" 

This made Mrs. Hatch so indignant that she said hotly : 
*^Well, I'll go, Mary Jaynes, and I'll stay gone, and I'll 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 385 

thank you never to darken my door again !'^ And ]\Irs. 
Hatch departed, angrier and more puzzled than before. 

She entered her own domain by a side gate and door 
and thus failed to discover the smallpox placard. 

She had been at home about half an hour when she 
saw Miss Nancy Dart, a warm-hearted, elderly woman 
who lived in the village, approaching the house. She 
walked boldly to the door and rang the bell. When 
Mrs. Hatch hurried down, the somewhat emotional Xancy 
exclaimed : 

^^IVe heard about it, Mrs. Hatch, and V\e come right 
up to stay with you and see you through it. You knov/ 
I^m a born nurse, and I've had the disease, and I haven't 
forgot how good you were to me when I had typhoid 
fever five years ago. I've brought things enough in my 
bag to do me a month and I'm going to stay and help 
you out, and don't you feel so dreadful over it all. Every- 
body's dreadful sorry for 3^ou, and I don't think that 
the town authorities will insist on any of you being carried 
to the pest-house, for you live so far out and kind of 
isolated. I met Jonas Dyke, one of the selectmen, on 
my way here, and he said he didn't think you'd need to go 
if you was properly quarantined here. Novv^, who's got it ? " 

^'Got what, Nancy Dart?" 

"I'd say 'what' with a smallpox card on my front 
porch, Dorindy Hatch!" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Just what I say! Do you mean to say that you don't 
know that there is a smallpox card on your front porch 
post?" 

"Where?" asked Mrs. Hatch, faintly. 

She stepped out on to the porch, and when Nancy 
pointed to the card Mrs. Hatch stared long at it before 
she said: 



386 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

^^It^s some of William Henry's doings. I knew some- 
thing awful would come of his being so good three whole 
days/' 

^^And you haven't any smallpox here?'' 

^^No more than you have." 

^^ Well, it's all over town that you have." 

Mrs. Hatch groaned and said sternly: ^^I'll settle with 
William Henry!" 

The fact that William Henry had had no intention of 
causing so much trouble did not save him from his aunt's 
wrath. 

^^A boy like you never gets a punishment amiss/' she 
said, ^^and I've let you go many a time when I ought to 
have whipped you. So just take off your jacket, William 
Henry Myers!" 

HOW DEACON TUBMAN AND PARSON 
WHITNEY KEPT NEW YEAR'S. 



W. H. H. Murray. 



^^ TLT APPY New Year!" exclaimed Deacon Tubman as 
he bounced out of bed on a bright New Year's 
morning. ^^This is going to be a fine day^ and I must 
see what I can do to make some one happy. " There's 
Parson Whitney now; guess I'll take him for a ride and 
see if I can thaw him out a bit. He's sort of all frozen 
up latterly^ and I can see that the young folks are afraid 
of him, and the church too — and that won't do — that 
won't do. Perhaps I can get him to go and see the young 
folks at their fun. It'll do him good, and them good, 
and me good, and everybody good." Saying which the 
deacon hurried through his work and out to harness Jack 
into the worn, old-fashioixed sleigh. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 387 

Now Jack was a horse of a great deal of character, and 
had a history, but of this, none in that section, save the 
deacon, knew a word. The deacon^s son had bought 
him from an impecunious horse jockey and sent him as 
a present to his father. 

He was an animal of most unique and extraordinary 
appearance. In the first place, he was quite seventeen 
hands in height and long in proportion. He was also 
the reverse of shapely, for his head was long and bony, 
and his hip bones protuberant ; his tail was what is known 
among horsemen as a ^^ rat-tail, ^^ being but scantily covered 
with hair, and his neck was even more scantily supplied 
with a mane, while in color he could easily have taken 
the premium for homeliness. 

A huge, bony horse he was, with a loose shambling 
gait, and the smart village chaps, riding along in their 
jaunty turn-outs, used to chaff the good deacon on the 
character of his steed and satirically challenge him to a 
brush. 

The deacon always took the badinage in good part, 
although he inwardly said more than once, ^'If I ever get 
a good chance, when there ain't too many around, I'll 
let Jack out on them''; for Dick had given the deacon 
a hint of the horse's pedigree, and told him that he could 
knock the spots out of thirty. Such was the horse, then, 
that the deacon had ahead of him and the old-fashioned 
sleigh when with the parson alongside he struck into the 
principal street of the village. 

On this particular day the sleighing was perfect, and 
every one was out. The deacon reached the corner of 
the street and turned just at the point where the course 
of an amateur race-track terminated, and at the precise 
moment when the dozen or twenty horses that had come 
flying down were being pulled up preparatory to returning 



888 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

at a slow gait to the customary starting-point at the head 
of the street half a mile away. 

The old-fashioned sleigh was quickly surrounded by the 
light fancy cutters^ and old Jack was shambling along in 
the midst of the high-spirited steeds. 

^^Hillow, Deacon/' shouted one of the boys who was 
driving a trim-looking bay, ^^ aren't you going to shake 
out old Shamble-heels and show us fellows what speed is?'' 

^^I don't know but what I will — I don't know but what 
I will, if the parson don't object and you won't start 
off too quick to begin with; for this is New Year's day, 
and a little extra fun won't hurt any one." 

^^Do it! do it! we'll hold up for you," answered a 
dozen merry ones. ^^Do it. Deacon, it'll do old Shamble- 
heels good to do a ten-mile-an-hour gait for once in his 
life, and the parson needn't fear of being scandalized 
by any speed you'll get out of him." 

Now Jack was a knowing old fellow and had '^scored" 
at too many races not to know that the return was to be 
taken leisurely, but when he came to the ^Hurn" his 
head and tail came up, his eyes brightened, and with a 
playful movement of his huge body, without the least 
hint from the deacon, he swung the cumbersome sleigh 
into line and began to straighten himself for the ^^ brush." 

Jack needed steadying at the start, but the deacon 
had no experience with the ^^ ribbons," and was utterly 
unskilled in the matter of driving, and so it came about 
that Jack was so confused that he made a most awkward 
effort to get off, and his flying rivals were twenty rods 
away before he got fairly started. But at last he got 
his huge body in a straight line and squared away to his 
work; with head and tail up he went off at so slashing 
a gait that it fairly took the deacon's breath away and 
caused the crowd that had been hooting him to roar their 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 389 

applause^ while the parson grabbed the edge of the old 
sleigh with one hand and the rim of his tall silk hat with 
the other. 

With muzzle lifted well up, tail erect, one ear pricked 
forward and the other turned sharply back, the great 
horse swept grandly along at a pace which was rapidly 
bringing him even with the rear line of the flying group. 

It was fortunate for the deacon and the parson that 
cheers such as ^^Good Heavens! see the deacon's old 
horse!'' ^^ Look at him! look at him!" '^ What a stride!'' 
ran ahead of them, for the drivers saw them coming, or 
there would surely have been more than one collision, 
for the old sleigh was of such size and strength, the deacon 
so unskilled at the reins, and Jack, who was adding to 
his momentum at every stride, going at so determined a 
pace, that had he struck the rear line with no gap for 
him to go through, something serious would surely have 
happened. As it was, they pulled out in time to save 
themselves. 

The deacon had become somewhat alarmed, for Jack 
was going at a nigh to thirty clip — a frightful pace for an 
inexperienced driver — so he began to put a good strong 
pressure on the bit, not doubting that Jack, ordinarily 
the easiest horse in the world to manage, would take 
the hint and slow up. But although the horse took the 
hint it was exactly in the opposite manner that the deacon 
intended he should, for he interpreted the little man's 
steady pull as an intimation that his driver was getting 
over his flurry, and beginning to treat him as a horse 
ought to be treated in a race, and that he could now 
go ahead. And go ahead he did. The more the deacon 
pulled, the more the horse felt himself steadied and assisted. 
The deacon began to cry ^^Whoa, Jack, whoa, old boy, 
I say!" ''That's a good fellow!" but the horse only under- 



390 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

stood this as so many signals to go ahead. So, with the 
memory of a hundred races stirring his blood, the crowds 
cheering him to the echo, the steadying pull, the encourag- 
ing cries of his driver in his ears, his only rival, the pacer, 
whirling along a few rods ahead of him, the monstrous 
animal let out another kick, and tore along after the 
pacer at such a terrific pace that within the distance of a 
dozen lengths he lapped upon him, and the two were 
going it nose and nose. 

No sooner was old Jack fairly lapped, and the contest 
seemed doubtful, than the spirit of old Adam himself 
entered into the deacon and the parson; they fairly for- 
got themselves and entered as wildly into the contest as 
two ungodly jockeys. 

^^ Deacon Tubman, Deacon Tubman,'^ asked the parson, 
'^do you think the pacer will beat us?^^ 

^^Not if I can help it! not if I can help it!^^ yelled the 
deacon in reply, as with something like a reinsman^s 
skill he lifted Jack to another spirit. ^^Go it, old boy!'' 
he shouted, ^^go along with you, I say!'' 

This was the very thing and the only thing that the 
huge horse needed. He put forth his collected strength 
with such tremendous energy and suddenness that the 
deacon, who had risen and who was standing erect in the 
sleigh, fell back into the arms of the parson, while the 
horse rushed over the line amid such cheers and roars of 
laughter as were never heard in that village before. 



^^ I wrote an article on cow's milk once for a maga- 
zine.'^ 

^^s that a fact?" 

'' Yes, and would you believe it, when it appeared in 
print it was condensed!". 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 391 

WHEN ANGRY, COUNT A HUNDRED. 



E. Cayazza. 



nr^'HE dining-room of a house in Fifth Avenue. 

Personages: Host, hostess, guests, pohtely engaged 
in conversation — all but Mr. Alfred Ames and Miss Eva 
Rosewarne, who, seated side by side at the table, regard in 
silence their respective bouquets on the tablecloth. 

Alfred [slightly embarrassed]. I hope, Miss Rosewarne, 
that you will believe me when I say that until I entered the 
house I had no idea you were to be here. Our short-lived 
engagement was quite unknown to any one but ourselves, 
and Mrs. Le Clerc, kind hostess that she is, supposes she is 
doing me a great favor by giving me a place next 3^ou. I 
confess that when I read your name I felt a sudden unrea- 
sonable sort of a thrill, but IVe not forgotten that a fort- 
night ago you said you would never speak to me again. I 
don^t ask you to talk to me, but may I beg as a favor — not 
to me — to our hostess, that you will appear to be on ordi- 
nary terms of acquaintance with me? I'll gladly do more 
than my share of the conversation; you never gave me 
much chance at that, but I dare say I shall succeed. By 
the way, I once heard of a man who had nothing to say at 
a dinner-party, so he turned to his neighbor and began to 
count with expression. You are angry with me, but you 
know philosophers advise one: ^^When angry count one 
hundred. '^ ]^»Iight I beg you to count your hundred aloud 
for the sake of our hostess? 

[Eva assents with a bend of her golden head.] 

Alfred. Thank you — if I may presume so far. I'm 
glad I never vowed not to speak to you again. It seems 
to me there is a good deal to be said, and as I expect to 
sail for Europe in a day or two, to be gone — indefinitely — 



392 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

perhaps like any other condemned man, I may be allowed 
a few last words? 

Eva. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. 

Alfred. You know that I loved you with my whole 
heart — • 

Eva [with haste].. Eight, nine — 

Alfred. And now, at this moment, I can think of no 
reason why you and I should be as far apart as if the Atlan- 
tic already rolled between us. 

Eva [pensively\. Ten, eleven, twelve. 

Alfred. You are still angry with me, but I shall always 
be grateful to you. For a few days I lived in Paradise, and 
if one must be driven out of Eden, it is at least more bear- 
able to be evicted by Eve — it was her name quite some 
time before it was yours — than to be driven out of it by 
the serpent. There was no serpent in my Eden. 

Eva [cynically]. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. 

Alfred. Ah, you are right. Or course; he was there, 
glittering with — orders of merit. Also, he waltzed like 
an angel of light. So you said that night at the Casino. 
But if you preferred Count von Waldberg to my humble 
self, you might at least have said so frankly. I wouldn^t 
have stood in the way of your happiness. 

Eva [reproachfully]. Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, 
twenty. 

Alfred. Mrs. Le Clerc is looking at us. Say some- 
thing kind to me — for her sake! 

Eva [cheerfully]. Twenty-one. twenty-two, twenty- 
three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, 
twenty-eight ! 

Alfred. A thousand thanks. She is quite satisfied 
that we are enjoying ourselves. 

Eva [with a shade of coquetry]. Twenty-nine, thirty? 

Alfred. Oh, immensely — that is to say^ not precisely. 




RESPONSE TO CALL OF MERCY. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 393 

However, I mean to improve my opportunity, such as 
it is. 

Eva [carelessly]. Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, 
thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six. 

Alfred. I think that neither you nor I can ever forget 
those evenings on the river. That yellowish light, half 
sunset, half moonrise; the stately white swans floating 
past us. I remejnber telling you that swan might be a sis- 
ter of yours, under some enchantment. I, too, was under 
the enchantment. Yes. But it made me appear like a 
goose instead of a sw^an. On the w^hole, you need not 
remember that occasion. Miss Rosewarne! 

Eva [sadly\ Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, 
forty, forty-one. 

Alfred. And in the morning, as I waited on the cliff 
for you, I understood how the earth waits for the dawn 
to illuminate it. Well, I have had my day; it was bright, 
but the sunset came too soon. 

Eva [dreamily]. Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four. 

Alfred. The sea sang of you, the waves sparkled for 
you, all the sirens had given their magic to you, and their 
harping must have been like the sound of the sea-wind in 
your hair. 

Eva [with an effort at mockery]. Forty-five, forty-six, 
forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty. 

Alfred. If you really think me comic, let me go on. 
I dreamed of you — don^t you like the present way of 
arranging the flowers low, so that one hasn't to peep this 
side and that of a mountain of roses? 

Eva [with surprise]. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three, 
fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six. 

Alfred. Major Starr was listening. He's talking 
again now. Yes, I dreamed of you and of you only. 
I still dream — 



894 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOR. 

Eva [hurriedly]. Fifty-seven^ fifty-eighty fifty-nine, sixty, 
sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four, sixty-five, 
sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight — 

Alfred. Don't be disturbed. I quite understand that 
dreams are illusions. I am awake; very thoroughly. 

Eva [softly]. Sixty-nine, seventy, seventy-one, seventy- 
two. 

Alfred. It is better to wake than to dream; but if one 
has no more pleasure in either — then best to sleep soundly. 

Eva ["puzzled, slightly alarmed]. Seventy-three, seventy- 
four, seventy-five? 

Alfred. Business is a good opiate. I expect to sail 
in a few days for Europe. 

Eva [with resignation]. Seventy-six. 

Alfred. It was at that Casino ball I first began to 
suspect the presence of that inconvenient third party in 
our legend of Eden. You remember, the night you wore 
that adorable gown the color of a plush rose and trimmed 
with tape? 

Eva [with horror]. Seventy-seven ! 

Alfred. How stupid of me! Of course, it wasn't tape. 
I used to be posted on those things in the days w^hen you 
were so good as to explain them to me. At all events, 
that was a delicious gown. 

Eva [with conviction]. Seventy-eight, seventy-nine. 

Alfred. You told me to come early. Well, I'd been 
earlier if Dickey Vane, poor old chap, hadn't asked me to 
stop in so he could see how a fellow looked in evening dress 
going off for a good time. Great good time I had that 
evening! You let me take your program of dances; the 
trail of the serpent — pardon me, I should say the auto- 
graph of Count von Waldberg — was over it all. 

Eva [deprecatingly]. Eighty, eighty-one, eighty-two. 

Alfred. I know. It's quite true that I had a lancers^ a 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 395 

quadrille, and the fag-end of a mazurka. But the waltz — - 
our waltz — you danced with the Count. 

Eva [protestingly]. Eighty-three, eighty-four, eighty- 
five. 

Alfred. Of course, he asked for it. But you have a 
thousand pretty ways of saying no. 

Eva [poignantly]. Eighty-six, eighty-seven, eighty-eight. 

Alfred. Reserved! If I had understood! Now, I 
dare not even hint my thanks for what — I did not have. 

Eva [with recovered composure]. Eighty-nine, ninety, 
ninety-one, ninety-two, ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety- 
five. 

Alfred. By the way. Count von Waldberg has gone 
back to his own country, and rather suddenly. I like 
that about him; it's a case where the absent is in the right. 
You must have given him leave of absence. 

Eva [reprovingly]. Ninety-six, ninety-seven. 

Alfred. I have no right to guess at what may have taken 
place between yourself and Count von Waldberg. It was 
impertinent, but decidedly agreeable, that surmise of mine. 

Eva [with increased coldness]. Ninety-eight. 

Alfred. Oh, it seems to me I must speak — and then 
forever after be silent. 

Eva [mockingly]. Ninety-nine! 

Alfred. That's a quotation from — from — ^in — fact — 
something that I was interested, a while ago, to coach 
myself upon. 

Eva [with marked indifference]. One hundred. 

Alfred. You have reached the hundred. And you 
are still angry, I'm afraid. Ah! if by chance it seems to 
you that you have said anything which you would rather 
have left unsaid, — ^we all do that sometimes, you know, — ■ 
you could retract it by counting that same hundred back- 
ward. 



396 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Eva [assenting]. Ninety-nine^ ninety-eighty ninety-seven, 
ninety-six. 

Alfred. Oh, this is a comedy that we are playing! 
But for me it is also a tragedy. I had built so many castles 
in air, and you were chatelaine of them all. But my life 
has ceased to be logical; it has gone all to pieces. I shall 
pick up the pieces, — I^m not a whimpering boy, — and glue 
them, screw them, clamp them, tie them together. I 
don^t pretend that it will be as good as it was before it 
was broken up. 

Eva [with remorse]. Ninety-five, ninety-four, ninety- 
three, ninety- two. 

Alfred. Twas not your fault. I did not deserve you; 
only I loved you with all my soul, as — iieaven help me ! I 
love you, I love you now! 

[Eva, very pale, rattles off the numbers down to sixteen, 
and stops for want of breath.] 

Alfred. Poor beautiful child, do not be afraid. I will 
not offend in this way again. I mean to tell you only that 
amid the ruins of my fallen castle, there blossoms an 
imperishable flower — my affection for you. See, Mrs. Le 
Clerc is about to rise. 

[Eva counts desperately, gets to three.] 

Alfred. And so, it is good-by. When we meet in 
future, it will be as mere acquaintances who have nothing 
to say to each other except the commonplaces of society. 
We, who were to have been united, must henceforward 
be — [he stops short, surprised by an emotion that chokes 
his voice of a man of the world]. 

Eva [boldly skipping a number]. One! [She recklessly 
drops her bouquet as she rises with the other ivomen]. 

Alfred [stoops to pick up her bouquet, kisses her hand 
under the table, and says in a rapturous undertone]. One 
forever ! 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 397 



GOING OF THE WHITE SWAN. 



Gilbert Parker. 



TT was in that northern country — Labrador. The place 
was the home of a hunter, a low hut with parchment 
windows. Outside was the drifting snow. Inside a 
huge wood-fire flecked the walls and windows with a 
velvety red and black. 

On a bed of wolf-skins lay a boy of nine years. Beside 
the bed sat the hunter. 

"Why don't mother come back, father? '' 

The man shook his head and made no reply. 

^^She'd come if ^he knew I was hurted, w^ouldn't she?'' 

The father nodded and then turned restlessly tow^ard 
the door as if expecting some one. 

*^ Suppose the wild-cat had got me, she'd be sorry when 
she comes, wouldn't she?"" 

There was no reply. The man's uncouth hand felt for 
a place in the bed where the lad's knee made a lump under 
the robe, which he softly lifted, folded back, and slowly 
uncovered the knee. The leg was worn aw^ay almost to 
skin and bone, but the knee itself w^as swollen; so was 
the shoulder. Both bore the marks of teeth — where a 
huge wild-cat had made havoc — and the body had long, 
red scratches. After bathing the wounds, the hunter 
again covered up the small disfigured body. 

"Father, what does it mean w^hen you hear a bird sing 
in the middle of the night?" 

"It hasn't no meaning, Dominique. There ain't such 
a thing on the Labrador Heights as a bird singin' in the 
night. That's only in warm countries where there^s 
nightingales." 



398 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

''Well, I guess it was a nightingale — it didn't sing like 
anything I ever heard/' 

''What did it sing like, Dominique?'' 
"So it made you shiver. You wanted it to go on and 
yet you didn't want it. It was pretty, but you felt as if 
something was going to snap inside of you." 

"When did you hear it, my son?" 

"Twice last night — and — I guess it was Sunday the 
other time. I don't know, for there hasn't been no Sun- 
day up here since mother left — ^went away — has there?" 

"Mebbe not." 

"'Twas just the same as Father Corraine's being here, 
when mother had Sunday, wasn't it?" 

The man made no reply, but a gloom drew down his 
forehead and his lips doubled in as if he endured physical 
pain. For weeks he had listened to the same kind of 
talk from his wounded and, as he thought, dying son, 
and he was getting less and less able to bear it. 

They sat there for a long time, each busy in his own 
way. At last the boy closed his eyes and seemed about 
to fall asleep, but presently looked up and whispered: 
"I haven't said my prayers, have I?" 

The father shook his head in a sort of rude confusion. 

"I can pray out loud if I want to, can't I?" 

"Of course, Dominique." 

"I forget a good deal, but I know one prayer all right, 
for I said it when the bird was singing. It isn't one out 
of the book Father Corraine sent mother; it's one she 
taught m.e out of lier own head. P'rhaps I'd better say it." 

"P'rhaps, if you want to." The voice was husky. 

The boy began: 

"0 bon Jesu, Who died to save us from our sins, listen 
to Thy child. When the great winds and rains come 
down from the hills, do not let the floods drown us, nor 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 399 

the woods cover us, nor the snowsHde bury us — ^' His 
finger twisted involuntarily into the bullet hole in the 
pelt, and he paused a moment. ^^Keep us from getting 
lost, O gracious Saviour/^ Again there was a pause, his 
eyes opened wide, and he said: ^^Do you think mother^s 
lost, father? ^^ 

^^Mebbe so — mebbe so/^ 

'^And if mother's lost, bon Jesu, bring her back again 
to us, for everything's going wrong/' 

Again he paused and then went on with the pra^^er 
as it had been taught him. ^^0 Christ, hear us. Lord, 
have mercy upon us. Lord, have mercy upon us. Christ, 
have mercy upon us. Amen." Then, making the sign 
of the cross, he lay back and went to sleep. 

The man sat for a long time looking at the pale, shining 
face. The longer he sat the deeper -did his misery sink 
into his soul. His v/ife had gone he knew not where, 
his child was wasting to death, and he had for his sorrows 
no inner consolation. His life had been spent in the 
wastes, and a youth of danger, hardships, and almost 
savage endurance had given him a half-barbarian tem- 
perament, which could strike an angry blow at one moment 
and fondle to death the next. 

When he married sw^eet Lucette Barbond his religion 
reached little farther than the superstitions of the North. 
His wife had at first striven with him, mourning, yet 
loving. Sometimes the savage in him had broken out 
over the little creature, merely because barbaric tyranny 
was in him — torture followed by the passionate kiss. And 
how was she to understand him? 

When she fled from their home one bitter day, as he 
roared some wild words at her, it was because her nerves 
had all been shaken, and his violence drove her mad. 
She had run out of the house, and on, and on, and on — 



400 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

and she had never come back. That was weeks ago, 
and there had been no word or sign of her since. The 
man was now busy with it all. 

Hours passed. All at once, without any motion or 
gesture, the boy^s eyes opened wide with a strange, intense 
look. 

^^ Father, when you hear a sweet horn blow at night, 
is it the Scarlet Hunter calling?'' 

^^ Perhaps. Why, Dominique?'' 

^^I heard one blowing just now, and the sounds seem 
to wave over my head. P'rhaps he's calling some one 
that's lost." 

^^Mebbe." 

^^ And I heard a voice singing — it wasn't a bird to-night." 

^^ There was no voice, Dominique." 

^^Yes, yes. I waked, and you were sitting there think- 
ing, so I shut my eyes again, and then I heard the voice; 
and I wonder what it means when you hear a voice like 
that, father? There! There it is again! Don't you hear 
it? Don't you hear it, daddy?" 

^^No, Dominique; it's only the kettle singing." 

^^ Daddy — I saw a white swan fly through the door over 
your shoulder when you came in to-night." 

^^No, no, Dominique; it was a flurry of snow blowing 
over my shoulder." 

^^But it looked at me with two shining eyes." 

^^That was two stars shining through the door, my son." 

The man's voice was anxious; his eyes had a hungry, 
hunted look. The legend of the White Swan had to do 
with the passing of a human soul. The Swan had come 
in — would it go out alone? He touched the boy's hand — 
it was hot with fever; he felt the pulse, it ran high; he 
watched the face, it had a glowing light. He got to his 
feet and with a sudden blind humility lit two candles, 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 401 

placed them on a shelf in the corner before a porcelain 
figure of the Virgin, as he had seen his wife do. Solemnly 
he touched the foot of the Christ on the cross with his 
finger-tips and brought them to his lips with an indescrib- 
able reverence. After a moment, standing with eyes fixed 
on the face of the crucified figure, he said in a shaking 
voice : 

^^ Pardon, bon Jesu! Save my child! Leave me not 
alone !^^ 

The boy murmured an ^^amen^^ and fell asleep. 

Outside two figures were approaching the hut — a man 
and a woman. 

^^Have patience, my daughter,^^ said the man. ^^Do 
not enter till I call you.'^ So saying he raised his hand 
as in a kind of benediction, passed to the door, and after 
tapping very softly, opened it and entered. 

^' Peace be to tliis house,'^ said the man gently, as he 
stepped forward from the door. The father, startled, 
turned shrinkingly on him, as if he had seen a spirit. 
^^ Monsieur le cure!^* he exclaimed. 

^^The wife and child, Bagot? Ah, the boy! Dominique 
is ill?^' 

'^A wild-cat, and then fever, Pere Corraine.'^ 

The priest felt the boy's pulse softly. 

^^Your mfe, Bagot?'' 

'^She is not here. Monsieur." 

^^ Where is she, Bagot?" 

^'I do not know. Monsieur. TATien did you see her last, 
Monsieur?" 

'^That was September, this is October — winter. On 
the ranches they let thin cattle loose upon the plains in 
winter, knomng not where they go, yet looking for them 
to return in the spring. But a woman — a woman and a 
wife is different. Bagot, you have been a rough, hard 



403 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

man, and you have been a stranger to your God, but I 
thought you loved your wife and child /^ 

The hunter's hands clenched and a wicked light flashed 
up into his eyes. The priest sat down on the couch where 
the child lay and took the fevered hand in his. ^SStay 
where you are, Bagot/' he said; ''just where you are, 
and tell me what your trouble is.'' 

Bagot began: ''I don't know how it started. I — I laid 
my pov/der-horn and whiskey-flask — up there!" He 
pointed to the httle shrine of the Virgin, where his candles 
were now burning, and continued: ''I didn't notice it, 
but she had put some flowers there. She said something 
Vv^ith an edge, threw the things down and called me a 
heathen and a wicked heretic — I don't say now but she'd 
a right to do it, but I said something pretty rough, and 
made as if I was going to break her in two." 

''Yes, that was what you did. What was it you said 
that was 'pretty rough'?" 

"I said that there was enough powder spilt on the 
floor to kill all the priests in heaven." 

A fire suddenly sho^ up into Father Corraine's face, 
and his lips tightened for an instant, but presently he 
was as before, and he said: "Go on. What else?" 

"Then I said, 'And if virgins have it so fine, why 
didn't you stay one?'" 

"Blasphemer! To the mother of your child — shame! 
What more?" 

"She threw up her hands to her ears with a cry a bit 
wild, ran out of the house, down the hills and away. I've 
hunted and hunted, but I can't find her." 

Once again the priest glanced toward the lighted candles, 
and then he said: "You asked me if I had heard anything 
of your wife. Listen. Three weeks ago I was camped 
on the Sandust Plains. In the morning, as I was lighting 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 403 

a fire outside of my tent, I saw coming over the crest of 
a land-wave a band of Indians. Well, as they came 
near, I saw that they had a woman with them/' 

^^A woman! — my wife!'' 

^^Your wife." 

''Quick! Quick! Go on — oh, go on, Monsieur " 

''She fell at my feet begging me to save her. I waved 
her off." 

"You wouldn't — wouldn't save her — you coward!" 

"Hush! I asked the chief where he had got the woman. 
He said he had found her on the plains — she had lost her 
way. I told him I wanted to buy her. He said that 
he had found her, and she was his, and that he would 
marry her when they reached the great camp of the tribe. 
I w^as patient. It would not do to make* him angry. I 
wrote on a piece of bark the things that I would give 
for her: An order on the company at Fort O'Sin for shot, 
blankets, and beads. He said no. I added some things 
to the list. But no, he would not. Once more I put 
many things down. God knows it was a big bill — it 
would keep me poor for ten years. To save your wife, 
John Bagot, you who drove her from your door, blasphem- 
ing and railing at such as I ! He shook his head and said 
he must have the woman for his wife. I said: 'She is 
white and the white people will never rest till they have 
killed you all if you do this thing.' Then he said: 'The 
whites must catch me before they kill me!' What was 
there to do?" 

"You let her stay with them — you, with hands like a 
man?" 

"Hush! I was one man, they were twenty." 

"Why didn't you offer rum — rum! They'd have done 
it for that — one — five — ten kegs of rum!" 

"You forget that it is against the law, and that as a 



404 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

priest of my order, I am vowed to give no rum to an 
Indian/^ 

^'A vow! A vow! Son of God, what is a vow to a 
woman — to my wife!'' 

^^ Perjure my soul! Offer rum! Break my vow in the 
face of the enemies of God's Church! What have you 
done for me that I should do this for you, John Bagot?" 

^^ Coward! Christ Himself would have broken a vow 
to save her!" 

^^Who am I that I should teach my Master? What 
would you give Christ, Bagot, if He had saved her to you?" 

^^Give — give! I would give twenty years of my life!" 

^^On your knees and swear it, John Bagot!" 

The tall hunter dropped to his knees and repeated the 
words. The priest turned to the door and called, 
^^Lucette!" 

The boy hearing, waked and cried, ^^ Mother! mother!" 
as the door flew open. 

The mother came to her husband's arms, laughing and 
weeping, and an instant afterward was pouring out her 
love and anxiety over her child. 

^^John Bagot, in the name of Christ, I demand twenty 
years of your life — of love and obedience to God. I broke 
my vow, I perjured my soul, I bought your wife with ten 
kegs of rum!" 

The tall hunter dropped again to his knees, and the 
priest, laying the crucifix against his lips, said in his 
rich, soft voice, '^ Peace be unto this house!" 

''Oh, my mother, I saw the White Swan fly through 
the door when you came in." She clasped the boy to 
her breast protectingly and whispered a prayer. 

And there was peace, for the child lived and the man 
has kept his vow. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 405 

NAMED BY PROXY. 



Henry Wallace Phillips. 



T'D been working on the Ellis ranch about three months 
when along come a man that looked like old man 
Trouble^s only son. He made any other human counte- 
nance I ever see look like a nigger-minstrel show. His 
name was Ezekiel George Washington Scraggs. 

Up to this time Smithy had enjoyed a cinch on the mourn- 
ful act. He'd had a girl some time durin^ the Mexican 
war, and she'd borrowed Smith's roll and skipped with 
another man. So, if we crowded Smithy too hard in debate, 
he used to say, ^^Oh, well! You fellers will know better 
when you've had more experience,'' although we might 
have been talkin' about what's best for frost-bite at the 
time. 

He noticed this new man Scraggs seemed to hold over 
him a trifle in sadness, and he thought he'd find out why. 

^^ You appear to me like a man that's seen trouble,'^ says 
he. 

^^Trouble!" says Scraggs. ^^Trouble!" 

'^I've met with misfortune myself," says Smithy. 

'^Ah!" says Scraggs, and Smithy warmed up. He'd 
been blew up in mines; squizzled down a mountain on a 
snow-shde; chawed by a bear; caught under a felled tree; 
sunk on a Missouri River steamboat; shot up by Injuns 
and personal friends; mistook for a horse thief by the 
committee, and much else, closing the list with right 
bower. ^^ And, Mr. Scraggs, I have put my faith in woman, 
and she done me to the tune of all I had." 

^^Have you?" says Scraggs, still perfectly pohte. ^'Have 
you?" And then he sUd the joker atop of Smithy's play. 
^'Well, I have been a Mormon," says he. 



406 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'^What?^^ says all of us. 

'^Yessir! a Mormon; none of your tinkerin^ little Mor- 
monettes. I was ambitious; hence E. G. W. Scraggs as 
you now behold him. In most countries a man^s standin' 
is regulated by the number of wives he ain^t got; in Utah 
it's just the reverse. I wanted to be the head of the hull 
^Mormon kingdom, so I married right and left. Every 
time I added to the available supply of Mrs. Scraggs, I 
went up a step :n the government. I ain't all the per- 
simmons for personal beauty, so I had to take what was 
willin' to take me, and they turned out to be mostly black- 
eyed women with peculiar dispositions. Gentlemen, I 
was once as lively and happy a httle boy as ever did chores 
on a farm. See me now! This is the result of mixin' 
women and politics. If I should tell you all the kinds of 
particular and general de\ilment (to run 'em alphabetically, 
as I did to keep track of 'em) that Ann Eliza Scraggs, and 
Bridget Scraggs, and Honoria and Helen Scraggs, and 
Isabelle Scraggs, and so on up to zed, raised with me, it 
would go through any little germs of joy you may have in 
your constitutions like Sittin' Bull's gang of dog soldiers 
through an old lady's sewing bee. Trouble! I'm bald 
as a cake of ice; my nerves is ruined. If the wind makes 
a noise in the grass hke the swish of skirts, I'm a mile up 
the track before I get my wits back. Trouble — I wisht 
nobudy'd mention that word in my hearin' again." 

Well, he had us all right. But Scraggs was a gentleman; 
now that he'd had his say, he loosened up considerable, and 
every now and then he'd even smile. 

Then come to us the queerest thing in that whole curi- 
osity-shop of a ranch. It's name was Alexander Fulton. 
I reckon Aleck was about twenty-one by the almanac, 
and anywheres from three to ninety by the way you 
figure a man. Aleck stood six foot high as he stood, but 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 407 

if you ran the tape along his curves he was about six-foot- 
four. 

He weighed one hundred and twenty pounds, of which 
twenty-five went to head and fifty to feet. Feet! You 
never saw such feet. They were the grandest feet that 
ever wore a man, and hung to Aleck's running gear, they 
remiijded you of the swinging jigger in a clock. They 
almost made me forget his hands. When Aleck laid a 
flipper on a cayuse's back, you'd think the critter was 
blanketed. 

His complexion consisted of freckles. His eyes were 
white, and so was his hair, and so was poor old Aleck — as 
white a kid as they make 'em. How he come to drift out 
into our country was a story all by itself. He was dis- 
appointed in love — he had to be. One look at him and 
you'd know why. So he sailed out to the wild West, 
where he was about as useful as a trimmed nighty. 

First off he was still, then findin' himselfi in a confi- 
dential crowd, and bustin' to let us know his trouble, he 
told us all about it. He'd never spoke to the girl, it seems, 
more'n to say, ^^How-d'ye-do, ma'am," and blush, and sit 
on his hat, and make curious moves with them hands and 
feet; but there come another feller along and Alexander 
quit. 

"You got away?" says Scraggs. "Permit me to con- 
gratulate you, sir!" 

"But I didn't want to come away!" stutters Alex- 
ander. 

"Didn't want to?" cries Scraggs, letting the pipe fall out 
of his mouth. Then he turns to me and taps his brow with 
his finger, casting a pitying eye on Aleck. 

As time went on Aleck got worse and worse. He had a 
case of ingrowing affection; it cut his weight down to 
ninety poimds. With him leaving himself at that rate. 



408 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

you could take pencil and paper and figure to the minute 
when Alexander Fulton was booked to cross the big 
divide. And we liked the kid. We got worked up about 
the matter, and talked it over considerable when he was 
out of hearing. It come to this : there was no earthly use 
in trying to get Aleck to go back and make a play at the 
girl. He'd ha' fell dead at the thought of it. That left 
nothing but to bring the girl to Aleck. We weren't going 
to let our pardner slip away without an effort anyhow. 
Then come the problem of who was the proper party to act 
as messenger. And we decided on Scraggs, because if he 
didn't know Woman and her Ways the subject belonged 
to the lost arts. 

But, man, didn't he r'arwhen we told him! 

''Me go after a woman!" says he. ''ME!!!— Take 
another drink." But we labored with him. Told about 
what a horrible time he'd had — ^he always liked to hear 
about it — and how there wasn't anybody else fit to handle 
his discard in the little game of matrimony — and so forth 
and so forth, till we had him saddled and bridled and 
standing in the corner of the corral as peaceful as a soldier's 
monument, for he was the best-hearted old fellow under 
his crust that ever lived. 

"All right," says he. "I'll do it." 

So that night E. G. W. Scraggs took his ca3aise and 
made for the railroad station, bound east. 

Aleck had give us full details. Yes, sir; we knew that 
little East Dakota town as well as if we'd been raised there; 
but we were some shy on details concerning the girl. I 
swear I don't believe Aleck had ever looked her full in the 
face. She was medium height, plump, blue eyes, brown 
hair, and that ended the description. 

Well, we suffered any quantity from impatience before 
E. G. W. S. showed up. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 409 

But one evening about half-past eight here comes Scraggs. 
He was riding and a buggy trailed behind him. 

We chased Aleck over to the main house, where the 
old man was to keep him busy until called for. 

Then up pulls E. G. W. S. and the buggy. 

''Here we are/' says Scraggs. ^^ Check the outfit — one 
girl and one splicer. Have you kept holt of Aleck?'' 

''Yes/' I says. "We've got him. Come in, folks." 

Soon's they got inside I lugged him to the corner. "Tell 
me about it/' I says. 

"Short sl^ory/' says he. "Moment I got off the choo- 
choo I spotted the house. Laid low in the daytime and 
scouted round as soon as night come. Girl goes down 
to the barn and comes back with a pail of milk. I grabbed 
her and put my hand over her mouth. 'Now, listen/ 
I says. 'There's a friend of mine wants to marry you. 
When I let you go, you'll skip into the house and pick 
up what clothes is handy, and you'll vamoose this ranch 
at quarter of eleven, sharp, so we can make the next train 
west. If you ain't there, or if you say a single word to 
a human being — you see this?' and I stuck the end of 
my hoss-pistol under her nose. 'Well, I'll blow the 
head clean off your shoulders with it.' Then I laid back 
my ears and rolled my eyes around. 

"Well, sir, she was scart so's she didn't know any- 
thing but what I said. I hated to treat a lady like that, 
but if I've learned anything concerning handlin' the sect, 
it's this — you got to be firm. There's where I made my 
mistake formerly. Then I let go of her and went back 
to the deppo. What she thought I couldn't even guess, 
but I knew I was goin' to have company, and, sure enough, 
'bout three minutes before train time, here comes our 
friend. When I got her safe aboard I told her she needn't 
be scart. Lots worse things could happen to her than 



410 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

marryin' Aleck, and she says ^Yessir/ and she kept on 
sayin' ^Yessir' to all I told her. Wisht I could have 
found one like that, instead of eighty of 'em that stood 
ready to jump down my throat the minute I opened 
my mouth. She told me she'd had a middlin' hard time 
of it and didn't mind a change. That surprised me a 
little, because I j edged from Aleck's talk she was an up- 
standin' critter — but, pshaw! Aleck would think a worm 
was a sassy thing if it squirmed in his direction,'' 

Then I went after Aleck. 

'^Friend of yours here/' I told him. 

'^That so?" says he. ^^Who is it?" 

'^Lady/' I says, kind of gay. 

He stopped in his tracks. 

'^Come along, here, now!" says I. "You ain't goin' to 
miss your happiness if main strength can give it to you." 
His toes touched about once to the rod. I run him into 
the place. 

"There," says I, "is somebody you know." 

Well, sir, Aleck looked at the gal, and the gal looked 
at Aleck, and the rest of us looked at each other. Soon's 
the kid got his breath he yells, "I never laid eyes on that 
lady before!" 

Oh, hivins, Maria! That was the awfullest minute I 
ever lived through. Poor ole E. G. W. S ! We all turned 
away from him out of pity. He grabbed aholt of the 
minister and swallered and swallered, unable to chirp. 

At last he raUied. "You mean to tell me, Aleck, that 
I've made a mistake?" 

Aleck was always wilhng to believe he was wrong. 
"I'm pretty sure, Zeke — I ain't never seen you, have I, 
Miss?" 

" No, sir — not that I know of." 
, E. G. W. S. rubbed his brow. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 411 

"Will you make good, anyhow, Aleck? I got the min- 
ister and all right here — it won^t take a minute/' 

I'd let go of Aleck in the excitement. At these words 
he made one step from where he stood in the house, through 
the window, to ten foot out of doors, and a few more 
steps like that and he was out of the question. 

Then the girl put her face in her hands and begun to 
cry. She was a mighty pretty little thing, and we'd 
rather have had most anything than that she should stand 
there cr^dn'. But we were all wandering in our minds. 

Then, sir, up gets Ezekiel George Washington Scraggs, 
master of himself and the situation. 

"Young lady," says he, "I have got you out here under 
false pretenses. I'm as homely as a hedge fence, and my 
record is dotted with marriages worse than a 'Pache out- 
break with corpses and burning homes. I ain't any kind 
of proposition to tie up to a nice girl like you, and I 
swear by my honor that nothing was further from my 
thoughts than matrimony — not meanin' any slur on you, 
for if I'd found you before, I might have been a happy 
man. Well, here I stand; if you'll marry me, say the 
word!" 

By thimder, we gave him a cheer that shook the roof. 

The girl reached out her left hand. She liked him. 

You wouldn't think that threatenin' to blow her brains 
out was just the touch that would set a maiden's heart 
tremblin' for a man, but if a wom_an takes a fancy to 
you, your way of doing things generally is only a little 
matter of detail. 

"How ^ill this figger out legally?" E. G. W. S. asked 
the minister. 

The minister was a cheerful, practical sort of lad. 

"Do you renounce the Mormon religion?" he asks. 

''Bet your life," says Scraggs. "And all its works.'' 



412 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

'^That settles it/^ says the minister. 

^^One minute/^ says Scraggs^ and he turned to the girl 
very gentle. ^^Are you doing this of your own free will, 
and not because I lugged you out here?'^ 

^^Yessir/^ says she. 

'^You want me^ just as I stand?'^ 

'^Yessir.^' 

I won't forget it. Then he put his hand on her head, 
took off his hat^ and raised his face. 

^^O God/' he prays, ^^you know what a miserable time 
IVe had in this line before. I admit it was nine-tenths 
my fault, but now I call for an honest deck and the hands 
played above the table. And make me act decent for 
the sake of this nice little girl. Amen.'' 

Then he pulled a twenty-dollar gold piece out of his 
pocket and plunked her down before the minister. 

^^ Shoot/' says he. 

And so Scraggs celebrated his eighty-first marriage, 
and they lived as happy ever after as any story book. 

And now, what do you think of Aleck? The scare we 
threw into him that night wound up his moanin' and 
grievin' about the other girl. He never cheeped once 
after that, and when I left the ranch he was makin' up 
to a widow with four children, as bold as brass. There 
was more poetry in E. G. W. S. than there was in Aleck, 
after all. 



^' What were you before you married?-' 
'^ I was a lecturer." 

" Is that so? What made you drop it?!i 
^' Oh, my wife took it up/' 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 413 

DE CUSHVILLE HOP. 



Ben King. 



T'SE gwine down to de Cushville hop 

An' dar ain' no niggahs gwine ter make me stop ; 
Missus gwine to deck me all up in white, 
So watch de step dat I'se gettin' in ter night. 
Um-hm, my honey, 'tain' no use; 
Um-hm, my honey, turn me loose, 
Um-hm, my honey, watch me shine 
When mah foot am a-shaldn' in de ole coonjine. 

No black niggahs come foolin' roun' me, 

I'se jes' to look at, any one can see; 

I'se jes' a orniment, an' I mus' 'fess 

No niggah put 'is ahm roun' mah snow-white dress. 

Um-hm, niggah, keep away, understand? 

Um-hm, niggah, look out fo' yo' head; 

I'se jes' ter gaze at I mus^ 'fess. 

So don't put yo' ahm roun' mah snow-white dress. 

Bring out de banjo, plunk-plank-pling, 
Watch de motion of mah step 'an mah swing; 
Don't yo' pestah me or make me stop 
When I git in motion at de Cushville hop. 
Um-hm, niggah, keep away, keep away ! 
Um-hm, niggah, not ter day ! 
Keep away from me kase I done kain't stop ; 
I'se jes' caught mah motion fo' de Cushville hop. 



414 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

DEATH OF CRAILEY GRAY. 



Booth Tarkington. 



[Crailey Gray, the ne'er-do-weel and light-o'-love; Crailey Gray, 
wit, poet, and scapegrace, the well-beloved scamp of Rouen, lies 
dying, shot through the breast by the father of Betty Carewe, to 
whom he was making love in the guise of his friend, Tom Vanrevel. 
It was the eve of the beginning of the Mexican War, and a company 
with Vanrevel for captain and Crailey for corporal had enlisted 
from the little town and were about to start for the front. Crailey, 
with Fanchon Bareaud, his fiancee, kneeling by the side of the bed, 
is lying near the window in a room in the Carewe home.] 

IVTOT long after sunrise Crailey asked to be left alone 
^ ^ with Tom. 

^^Give me your hand, Tom/^ he said faintly. ^' Tell me — 
I want to hear it from you — ^how many hours does the 
doctor say ?^^ 

^^ Hours, Crailey?^' 

^^I know it^s only a few/^ 

^^They^re all fools, doctors!^' exclaimed Vanrevel, 
fiercely. 

^^ No, no. I know that nothing can be don^. It frightens 
me, I own up, to think that so soon I'll be wiser than the 
wisest in the world. Yet I always wanted to know. IVe 
sought and IVe sought — ^but now to go out alone on the 
search for the Holy Grail — I '^ 

^^ Please don't talk,'' begged Tom, in a broken whisper. 

Crailey laughed weakly. '' There's one thing I want, 
Tom. I want to see all of them once more, all the old 
friends that are going down the river at noon. I want 
them to come by here on their way to the boat, mth the 
band and the new flag. But I want the band to play 
cheerfully. Ask 'em to play 'Rosin the Bow,' will you? 
I've never beHeved in mournfulness, and I don't want to 
see any of it now. I want to see them as they'll be when 
they come marching home— they must look gay!" 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 415 

'^Ah, don^t, lad, don^t!^' 

The volunteers gathered at the court-house two hours 
before noon. They met each other dismally, speaking in 
undertones as they formed in lines of four. Not so with 
the crowds of country folks and townspeople who lined the 
streets to see the last of them. For these, when the band 
came marching clown the street and took its place, set up 
a royal cheering that grew louder as Jefferson Bareaud, 
the color-bearer, carried the flag to the head of the pro- 
cession. 

Jefferson unfurled the flag; Marsh gave the word of 
command, the band began to play a quickstep, and the 
procession moved forward down the cheering lane of 
people, who waved little flags and handkerchiefs and 
threw their hats in the air as they shouted. But, con- 
trary to expectation, the parade was not directly along 
Main Street to the river. ^^ Right wheel! March !'^ com- 
manded Tappingham, hoarsely, waving his sword, and 
Jefferson led the way into Care we Street. 

'^For God's sake, don't cry now!'' said Tappingham, 
with a large drop streaking do^m his own cheek. ^^That 
isn't what he wants. He wants to see us looldng cheery 
and smiling. We can do it for him this once, I guess! I 
never saw him any other way." 

^^You look damn smiling yourself!" snuffled one of the 
boys. 

^^I will when we turn in at the gates. On my soul, I 
swear I'll kijl every sniffling idiot that doesn't! — In line, 
there!" 

The lively strains of the band and the shouting of the 
people grew louder and louder in the room where Crailey 
lay. His eyes ghstened and he smiled merrily, Hke a 
chUd. 

^^Hail to the band!" Crailey chuckled, softly. ^'How 



416 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

the rogues keep the time ! It's ' Rosin the Bow ' all right ! 
Ah, that is as it should be/' 

''Hark to 'em! They're very near! Only hear the 
people cheer them ! They'll ' march away so gaily/ won't 
they?^— and how right that is!" 

Over the hedge gleamed the oncoming banner, the fresh 
colors flying out on a strong breeze. 

''There's the flag — look^ Fanchon, your flag! — waving 
above the hedge; and it's Jeff who carries it. Doesn't 
it always make you want to dance? ^^ 

The procession halted for a moment in the street and the 
music ceased. Then^ with a jubilant flourish of brass 
and the roll of drums, the band struck up *'The Star-span- 
gled Banner/' and Jefferson Bareaud proudly led the way 
through the gates and down the driveway, the bright silk 
streaming overhead. Behind him briskly marched the 
volunteers, with heads erect and cheerful faces. 

"Here they come! do you see, Fanchon? They are all 
there. God bless and grant them all a safe return! 
What on earth are they taking off their hats for? — Ah, 
good-by, boys, good-by!" 

They saw the white face at the window and the slender 
hand fluttering its farewell, and Tappingham halted his 
men. 

"Three times three for Corporal Gray!" he shouted, 
" and may he rejoin his company before we enter the Mexi- 
can capital!" 

He beat the time for the thunderous cheers that they 
gave; the procession described a circle on the lawn, and 
then, with the band playing and colors flying, passed out 
of the gates and took up the march to the wharf. 

"The flag, the flag!" whispered Crailey, following it 
with his eyes. " It's so beautiful. Ah, Tom, they've said 
we abused it, sometimes — it was only that we loved it 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 417 

so well we didn^t like to see any one make it look silly or 
mean. But, after all, no man can do that — no, nor no 
group of men, nor party. They^ll take our banner across 
the Rio Grande, but that is not all — some day its stars 
must spread over the world! Don^t 3^ou all see that they 
will?^' 

He closed his eyes with a sigh; the doctor bent over 
him quickly, and Miss Betty unconsciously cried out. 

The bright eyes opened again. 

'^Not yet,'^ said Crailey. ^^Miss Carewe, may I tell 
you that I am sorry I could not have known you sooner? 
Perhaps you might have liked me for Fanchon's sake — 
I know you care for her.^^ 

^^I do — I do!'^ she faltered. ^^I love her, and — ah! — 
I do like you, Mr. Gray, for I know you, though I never — 
met you until — last night. God bless you — God bless 
you!'' 

The day passed, and the shadows slanted strongly to 
the eastj when the stillness was broken by a sound, low 
and small at first, then rising fearfully, a long, quavering 
wail of supreme anguish that clutched and shook the 
listener's heart. No one could have recognized the voice 
as Fandhon's, yet every one who heard it knew that it 
was hers, and that the soul of Crailey Gray had gone 
out upon the quest for the Holy Grail. 



418 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE VIRGINIAN'S FINAL VICTORY. 



Owen Wister. 



[From " The Virginian." Copyright, 1902, by Macmillan Company.] 

[The Virginian — called so because of his birthplace — a horesman 
of the plains, has after long waiting won the woman he loves, fair- 
haired Molly Stark Wood of Vermont. She has been in Wyoming 
teaching school for three years, but has never become accustomed 
to its wild ways. It is the day before their wedding-day and they 
have journeyed twelve miles to the town where the well-beloved 
Bishop awaits them. There, to his disgust, the Virginian finds that 
his only enemy, Trampas, has preceded him. The Virginian is the 
noblest type of cowboy, as Trampas is the vilest, and there have 
been several struggles between them, in which the Virginian has 
always come out victorious. Therefore Trampas hates him with 
a deadly hatred ; and now, on this the happiest day of the Virginian's 
life, Trampas orders him to leave town before sundown and be 
branded a coward or fight a duel with him. The Virginian's 
friends, the Bishop among them, beg him for Molly's sake to leave 
town, but they all know in their hearts that the crisis must be met.] 

nPHE Virginian unlocked the room in the hotel where 

he kept his many accoutrements for the bridal 

journey in the mountains. Irom among his possessions 

he took quickly a pistol, wiping and loading it, for fifteen 

of the forty minutes were gone. 

^^The Bishop is wrong/' he said. ^^ There is no sense 
in telling her.'' And he turned to the door just as she 
came to it herself. 

^^Oh!" she cried and rushed to him. 

He swore as he held her close. 

'^Who had to tell you this?" he demanded. 

'^I don't know. Somebody just came and said it." 

^^This is mean luck" [he murmured, patting her]. 

^^I wanted to run out and find you; but I didn't! I 
stayed quiet in my room till they said you had come back. 
How could you be so long? Never mind, I've got you 
now. It is over." 

Note. — The words inclosed in brackets [ ] the- reader may omit. 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 419 

''I might have known some fool would tell you/^ 

'^It's all over. Never mind/^ 

'^I know it is a heap worse for you '' [he pursued, speak- 
ing slowly]. ^^I knew it would be.'^ 

^^But it is over!'^ 

He kissed her. ^^Did you think it was over? There is 
some waiting still before us. I wish you did not have 
to wait alone. But it will not be long. I did my best. 
I let him say to me before them all what no man has ever 
said, or ever will again. I kept thinldng hard of you. 
And I gave him a show to change his mind. But he stood 
to it. He went too far in the hearing of others to go 
back on his threat. He will have to go on to the finish 
now.'' 

^^The finish?'' 

^^Yes" [he answered very gently]. 

Her dilated eyes were fixed upon him. 

'^But — " [she could scarce form utterance] — ^^but you?" 
^^What, are you going — " [She put har two hands to her 
head.] ^^Oh, God! you are going — " He made a step, 
and would have put his arm around her, but she backed 
against the wall, staring at him. 

^^I am not going to let him shoot me " [he said quietly]. 

^^ But you can come away ! It's not too late yet. Every- 
body knows that you are brave. T\Tiat is he to you? 
I'll go with you anywhere. Oh, won't you listen to me?" 
[She stretched her hands to him.] '^ Won't you Hsten?'^ 

He took her hands. ''1 must stay here." 

'^No, no, no. There's something else. There's some- 
thing better than shedding blood in cold blood. Why, it's 
what they hang people for! It's murder!" 

^^ Don't call it that name," he said sternly. ^^ Listen 
to me. Are you listening?" 

She nodded. 



4:20 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

"I belong here. If folks came to think I was a 
coward '^ 

^^Who would think you were a coward?'' 

''Everybody/' 

'' When it wag explained " 

"There'd be nothing to explain." 

''There is a higher courage than fear of outside opinion." 

"Cert'nly there is. That's what I'm showing in going 
against yours." 

"But if you know that you are brave, and if I know 
that you are brave, oh, my dear, my dear, what difference 
does the world make? How much higher courage to 
go your own course " 

"I am goin' my own course. If any man happened 
to say I was a thief, and I heard about it, would I let 
him go on spreadin' such a thing of me? What men 
say about my nature is not^ust merely an outside thing. 
For the fact that I let 'em keep on sayin' it is a proof 
I don't value my nature enough to shield it from their 
slander and give them their punishment. Can't you see 
how it must be about a man?'^ 

"I cannot, — when I think of to-morrow, of you and 
me, and of — if you do this, there can be no to-morrow 
for you and me." 

"Do 3^ou mean — this would be the end?" 

Her head faintly moved to signify yes. 

"Will you look at me and say that ?" [he murmured 
at length]. She did not move. "Can you do it?" 

She gazed at him across the great distance of her despair. 

His hand closed hard. 

"Good-by, then," he sai.d. 

At that word she was at his feet. "For my sake," she 
begged him. "For my sake." 

A tremble passed through his frame. Looking up, she 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 421 

saw that his eyes were closed \sdth misery. Then he 
unclasped her hands, raised her to her feet and was gone. 
She was alone. 

The Virginian, for precaution, did not walk out of the 
front door of the hotel. He went through back ways, 
and paused once. Against his breast he felt the wedding- 
ring where he had it suspended by a chain from his neck. 
He drew it out and looked at it, and his arm went back 
to hurl it from him as far as he could. But he stopped, 
kissed it with one sob, and thrust it in his pocket. Then he 
walked out into the open, watching. He soon gained a posi- 
tion where no one could come at him except from in front. 

^^It is quite a while after sunset, ^^ he heard himself say. 

A wind seemed to blow his sleeve off his arm; he replied 
to it, and saw Trampas pitch forward. He looked at his 
pistol and saw the smoke flowing upward out of it. 

^^I expect that^s all,^^ he said aloud. ^^Both of mine 
hit. His must have gone mighty close to my arm. I 
told her it would not be me.^^ 

He had scarcely noticed that he was being surrounded 
and congratulated. His heart was like lead within him. 

^^If anybody wants me about this,'' he said to the men 
around him, ^^I will be at the hotel.'' 

^^ Who'll want you?" said his friend. '^ Three of us 
saw his gun out. You were that cool! That quick!" 

^^I'U see you boys again," said the Virginian, heavily. 
He walked to the hotel and stood on the threshold of his 
sweetheart's room. 

^^You have to know it/' said he. ^^I have killed 
Trampas." 

^^Oh, thank God!" she cried; ^Hhank God!" and he 
found her in his arms. 

The next day, mth the Bishop's blessing, the Virginian 
departed with his bride into the mountains. 



4:22 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

THE WIDOW'S REVENGE. 



Frank R. Stockton. 



TTHE widow Keswick and Mr. Brandon^ an elderly 
lawyer, had once been friends, — lovers, indeed, in the 
days that were gone by, — but a fev/ years after she had 
refused him and married Mr, Keswick. Trouble about 
some land, which she believed the lawyer had cheated her 
out of, arose between them and created an irreconcilable 
breach which had never healed, and ever since one had 
constantly been trying to get the better of the other. 

Mrs. Keswick always spoke of Mr. Brandon in the most 
biting and contemptuous tones, and he regarded her with 
holy horror, for great had been the change both in Mrs. 
Keswick^s appearance and tongue since he first knew and 
loved her. This being the case, the servants of Mr. Bran- 
don^s household were throv/n into a state of amazement 
when one bright morning the widow drove up into the 
yard and announced that she had come to see Mr. Brandon. 
She presented rather a remarkable figure as she descended 
from the cart in which she had driven over. In one hand 
she firmly clasped a large purple umbrella. Her dress 
was a plain calico, blue spotted with yellow, and was very 
narrow and short in the skirt, barely touching the tops 
of her boots — the very shortest and most serviceable she 
could procure in the village. Her shoulders were covered 
with a small red shawl fastened with a large somewhat 
tarnished silver broach. On her head was a sunbonnet 
whose age dated back several years. 

^^ Where is your Master?^' she asked one of the servants. 

^^Mars Roberts is in de liberary. Who shall I tell Mars 
Roberts is come?^' 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 423 

"There is no need to tell him; just take me to him.'^ 

Mr. Brandon was seated by a table in an arm-chair in 
front of a good fire, enjoying his morning paper; but when 
he heard the door open and looked up to find the widow 
Keswick standing in the room, every idea of comfort and 
satisfaction seemed to vanish from his mind. 

"A^^iat, Madam, so it is you, Mrs. Keswick?' 

The old lady did not immediately reply, her head dropped 
a little on one side, a broad smile bewrinkled the lower 
part of her well-worn Adsage ; and mth her eyes half closed 
behind her heavy spectacles she held out both her hands, 
the purple umbrella in one of them, and exclaimed: 

"Robert, I am yours.^^ 

j\[r. Brandon, having recovered from his first surprise, 
had made a step forward to go round the table and greet 
his visitor, but at these words he stopped as if he had 
been shot. 

"Don't you understand me, Robert? Don't you remem- 
ber the day, many a good long year ago, it is true, when 
we walked together down there by the brook and 3^ou 
asked me to be yours? I refused you, Robert. Although 
you went down on your knees in the damp grass and 
besought me to give you my heart, I would not do it. 
That heart is yours now, Robert. / am 3^ours.'' 

"Madam, what are you talking about?'' 

"Of the days of our courtship and of your love, Robert. 
My love did not come then, but it is here now — here 
now." 

"Madam, you must be raving crazy. Those things to 
which you allude happened nearly half a century ago, and 
since that you have been married and settled and " 

"Robert, you are mistaken. It is not quite forty-five 
years since that morning, and wh}^ should hearts like ours 
allow the passage of time or the mere circumstance of 



424 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

what might be called an outside marriage come between 
them/^ 

'^Mrs. Keswick — Madam/ you will drive me mad/^ 

^^ Robert, do not try to crush emotions which always 
were a credit to you, although in those days I did not tell 
you so. Your hair was black then, now it is gray, Robert, 
and I remember I had on a white dress with a broad ribbon 
about the waist and neither of us wore specs. AVhat you 
said to me was very fresh and sweet, Robert, and it all 
comes to me now as it never came before. You have 
never loved another, Robert, and you don^t know how 
happy it makes me to know that, and to know that I can 
come to you and find you the same true constant lover 
that you were forty-five years ago. After all these years 
I have learned what a prize your true love is, and I return 
it — I am yours.'' 

Mr. Brandon made a wild attempt to leave the room, 
but Mrs. Keswick was too quick for him. With two sud- 
den springs she reached the door and put her back against 
it, saying ^^ Don't leave me, Robert. I have not told 
you all. Don't you remember this breastpin? You gave 
it to me, Robert, and there were tears of joy in your 
eyes the first day I wore it. Where are those tears now, 
Robert? I have kept it all these years, though in the 
lifetime of Mr. K. it was never cleaned, and I wore it 
to-day, Robert, that your eyes might rest on [it again, 
and that you might speak to me the words you spoke to 
me the day after I let you pin it on my white necker- 
chief. You waited then, Robert, a whole day before you 
spoke, but you needn't wait now. Let your heart speak 
out, dear Robert." 

With a stamp of his foot and a kick at a chair which stood 
in his way, dear Robert precipitately left the room by 
another door and shortlv after Mrs. Keswick saw him ride 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 425 

out of the yard. As the widow drove home that night 
alone a suppressed chuckle burst from her. 

''Well, I reckon the old scapegrace has got his money's 
worth this time. G'lang.'^ 

A week or so later, on New Year's day, Mr. Brandon was 
sitting in his library with Colonel Macon, an elderly gentle- 
man of social habits and genial temperament. They 
were telling anecdotes of by-gone days, and were in ex- 
cellent humor, when a servant came in with a note for 
Mr. Brandon. The old gentleman looked at the address 
and then let the missive fall with an angry ejaculation. 

''It's from that old witch, the widow^ K. IVe a great 
mind to throw it into the fire without reading it.'' 

"Don't do that; it's a New Year's present she is sending 
you. Read it, sir; read it by all means. I'd like to 
know what sort of congratulations she offers you." 

"Congratulations, indeed; you needn't expect any- 
thing of that sort." But he opened the note and read: 

"'My dear Robert' — Confound it, sir, did you ever 
hear such impertinence? 

" ' It is not for me to suggest anything of the kind, but 
I write this note sim^ply to ask you what you think of our 
being married soon. We are no longer young, Robert, 
and think how happy we might be beginning this year 
together. Remember, I do not propose this, I only lay 
it before your own kindly and affectionate heart. Your 
own 

^"Martha Ann Kesw^ick.' 

"Did you ever hear anything like that? Marry her? 
The old shrew, does she imagine that anything in this 
world would induce me to marry her?" 

"Why, my dear sir, of course she don't. I know the 
widow Keswick as well as you do. She wouldn't marry 
you to save your soul, sir. All she wants is to worry and 



426 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

torment your senses out of you in revenge for your once 
having gotten the best of her. Now, take my adAdce, 
sir, and don^t let her do it/^ 

^^I'd Kke to know how I am going to hinder her/^ 

'^Hinder her! Nothing easier in the world. You just 
turn right square round and face her, sir; and youlF, 
see she stops short, sir, and what is more, she^ll run, sir.'^ 

^^But I have faced her and I assure you she didn^t run.^' 

^^That was because you didn^t do it in the right way. 
Now, if I v/ere in your place, sir, this is what I would 
do. I^d say to her, ^ Madam, I think your proposition is 
an excellent one; I am ready to marry you to-day or 
at the very latest to-morrow morning.^ Now, sir, a note 
like that would frighten the old woman so she would go 
away and wouldn^t be back in six weeks. '^ 

Mr. B. considered a moment. 

'^Yes, by Jove, that is a royal idea. I will face her, 
and scare her out of her five senses. ^^ 

Pen, ink, and paper were at hand, and the letter was 
soon written, though very carefully constructed. He 
stated that nothing would give him greater pleasure than 
an immediate wedding, and that he intended starting 
for the city the next day and would be rejoiced to meet 
her at eleven o'clock in the covered bridge connecting the 
Exchange and Ballard Hotels and there arrange all the 
details for an immediate wedding. The letter was signed 
'^Your devoted Robert.^' 

'^By which I mean I am devoted — to her destruction. '' 

The next day the two old fellows, chuckling at the 
way they had scared the widow, went at the appointed 
hour to the bridge. There seated in a conspicuous place 
was the widow, umbrella and all. 

^^ Robert, I knew how true and faithful you would be. 
It has just struck eleven. How do you do, Colonel Macon?'' 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 427 

Colonel Macon was pale, yet he retained his presence 
of mind. 

''I'm glad to meet you again, Mrs. Keswick. Let us go 
to one of the parlors; you will find it more comfortable. '' 

The Colonel did not stay long in the parlor, however; 
there was that in the air of Mrs. Keswick which plainly 
told his company might be much more welcome else- 
where. In about half an hour there came down-stairs 
a man who somewhat resembled Mr. Brandon. Colonel 
Macon made five strides towards him. 

''What— how '' 

"It is all over.'' 

"Over — have you settled it. then? Is she gone?" 

"It's settled — we are to be married." 

"Married! Good heavens man what do you mean?" 

In low quavering tones Mr. Brandon told his friend that 
it was inevitable. 

"It v/as a mistake, sir, to suppose she merely wished to 
torment me. She wished to marry me — and she is going 
to do it." 

The Colonel bowed his face upon his hands and groaned. 

" Do not reproach yourself, sir, " said Mr. Brandon. " We 
thought we were acting for the best." 

Little more was said, and soon afterward the two 
crushed old gentlemen retired to their rooms. 

The widow Keswick, as usual, took all the arrangement 
for the wedding into her own hands. She decided that 
it should be in the church, and that all her old friends 
and those of Mr. Brandon should be invited to be present. 
Accordingly, when the day she had set arrived the church 
was well filled with, old colonels, old majors, old judges, 
with their mves and daughters, all anxious to Tvitness 
the marriage of the ancient lovers. T^Tien, in the course 
of the marriage service, the clergyman asked the bride- 



428 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

groom if he would have this woman to be his wedded wife, 
to love and keep her for the rest of her life, the answer, 
^^I will,^^ came forth in a feeble tone not wholly divested 
of a tinge of despondency. With the lady it was quite 
otherwise. When the like question was put to her, she 
stepped back and in a loud clear voice exclaimed: 

"Marry him! Not I, not for the world sir! '^ and with 
these words she turned and walked quickly down the isle 
to the door, where again her voice rang out : 

"Now, Mr. Robert Brandon, our account is balanced.^' 



MR. TRAVERS'S FIRST HUNT. 



Richard Harding Davis. 



A70UNG Travers, who had been engaged to a girl down 
on Long Island for the last three months, only met 
her father and brother a few weeks before the day set for 
the wedding. The brother is a master of hounds near 
Southampton, and shared the expense of importing a 
pack from England with Van Bibber. The father and 
son talked horse all day and until one in the morning; 
for they owned fast thoroughbreds, and entered them at 
the Sheepshead Bay and other race-tracks. Old Mr. Pad- 
dock, the father of the girl to whom Travers was engaged, 
had often said that when a young man asked him for his 
daughter's hand he would ask him in return, not if he 
had lived straight, but if he could ride straight. And on 
his answering this question in the affirmative depended 
his gaining her parent's consent. Travers had met Miss 
Paddock and her mother in Europe, while the men of the 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 429 

family were at home. He was invited to their place in 
the fall when the hunting season opened, and spent the 
evening most pleasantly and satisfactorily mth his fiancee 
in a corner of the drawing-room. But as soon as the 
women had gone, young Paddock joined him and said, 
'^You ride, of course?'^ Travers had never ridden; but 
he had been prompted how to answer by Miss Paddock, 
and so said there was nothing he liked better. As he 
expressed it, he would rather ride than sleep. 

'^That's good,'' said Paddock. ''I'll give you a mount on 
Satan to-morrow morning at the meet. He is a bit nasty 
at the start of the season; and ever since he killed Wallis, 
the second groom, last year, none of us care much to ride 
him. But you can manage him, no doubt. He'll just 
carry your weight." 

Mr. Travers dreamed that night of taking large, desper- 
ate leaps into space on a mid horse that snorted forth 
flames, and that rose at solid stone walls as though they 
were hayricks. 

He was tempted to sa}^ he was ill in the morning — 
which w^as, considering his state of mind, more or less 
true — but concluded that, as he would have to ride sooner 
or later during his Adsit, and that if he did break his neck 
it would be in a good cause, he determined to do his best. 
He did not want to ride at all, for two excellent reasons — 
first, because he wanted to live for Miss Paddock^s 
sake, and, second, because he wanted to live for his 
own. 

The next morning was a most forbidding and doleful- 
looking morning, and young Travers had great hopes that 
the meet would be declared off; but just as he lay in 
doubt the servant knocked at his door with his riding 
things and his hot water. 

He came down-stairs looking very miserable indeed. 



430 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

Satan had been taken to the place where they were to 
meet, and Travers viewed him on his arrival there with a 
sickening sense of fear as he saw him pulHng three grooms 
off their feet. 

Travers decided that he would stay with his feet on 
solid earth just as long as he could, and when the hounds 
were thrown off and the rest had started at a gallop he 
waited, under the pretense of adjusting his gaiters, until 
they were all well away. Then he clenched his teeth, 
crammed his hat down over his ears, and scrambled up 
on to the saddle. His feet fell quite by accident into the 
stirrups, and the next instant he was off after the others, 
with an indistinct feeling that he was on a locomotive that 
was jumping the ties. 

Satan was in among and had passed the other horses in 
less than five minutes, and was so close on the hounds that 
the whippers-in gave a cry of warning. But Travers could 
as soon have pulled a boat back from going over the Niagara 
Falls as Satan, and it was only because the hounds were 
well ahead that saved them from having Satan ride them 
down. Travers had taken hold of the saddle with his 
left hand to keep himself down, and sawed and swayed on 
the reins with his right. He shut his eyes whenever Satan 
jumped, and never knew how he happened to stick on; 
but he did stick on, and was so far ahead that no one could 
see in the misty morning just how badly he rode. As it 
was, for daring and speed he led the field, and not even 
young Paddock was near him from the start. There was 
a broad stream in front of him, and a hill just on its other 
side. No one had ever tried to take this at a jump. It 
was considered more of a swim than anything else, and 
the hunters always crossed it by the bridge, toward the 
left. Travers saw the bridge and tried to jerk Satan's 
head in that direction; but Satan kept right on as straight 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 431 

as an express train over the prairie. Fences and trees and 
furrows passed by and under Travers like a panorama run 
by electricity, and he only breathed by accident. They 
went on at the stream and the hill beyond as though they 
were riding at a stretch of turf, and, though the whole field 
set up a shout of warning and dismay, Travers could only 
gasp and shut his eyes. He remembered the fate of the 
second groom and shivered. Then the horse rose like a 
rocket, lifting Travers so high in the air that he thought 
Satan would never come dovvm again ; but he did come dov/n, 
with his feet bunched, on the opposite side of the stream. 
The next instant he was up and over the hill and had 
stopped panting in the very center of the pack that were 
snarling and snapping around the fox. And then Travers 
showed that he was a thoroughbred, even though he could 
not ride, for he hastily fumbled for his cigar-case, and 
when the field came pounding up over the bridge and around 
the hill, they saw him seated nonchalantly on his saddle, 
pufRng critically at a cigar and giving Satan patronizing 
pats on the head. 

^^My dear girl,'' said old Paddock to his daughter as they 
rode back, ^^if 3^ou love that young man of yours and want 
to keep him, make him promise to give up riding. A 
more reckless and more brilliant horseman I have never 
seen. He took that double jump at the gate and that 
stream like a centaur. But he will break his neck sooner 
or later, and he ought to be stopped.'^ Young Paddock 
was so delighted with his prospective brother-in-law's 
great riding that that night in the smoldng-room he made 
him a present of Satan before all the men. 

^^No,'' said Travers, gloomily, ^^I can't take him. Your 
sister has asked me to give up w^hat is dearer to me than 
anything next to herself, and that is my riding. You see, 
she is absurdly anxious for my safety, and she has asked 



432 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

me to promise never to ride again, and I have given my 
word/' 

A chorus of sympathetic remonstrances rose from the 
men. 

^^ Yes, I know/' said Travers to her brother, ^4t is rough, 
but it just shows what sacrifices a man will make for the 
woman he loves/' 



AT THE SIGN OF THE CLEFT HEART. 



Theodosia Garrison. 



[From Smart Set, by permission of the publishers.] 



Time: afternoon. The season: May. 
The scene: Love's Shop, Arcadian Way. 
Love at the counter; Maiden at the door. 

Note. — Passages enclosed in [ ] may be omitted in reciting. 

MAIDEN 



"TS this the place? — IVe not — been here — before 

LOVE [aside] 
Ah, a new customer — I know the blush — 
[Poor child ! She's all a-quiver as a thrush 
Thrills before singing. [Boiving] Sweetheart, from your 

face] 
I can assure you that this is the place, 
The Sign of the Cleft Heart. Hearts, old and new, 
Always in stock; repairing done here, too. 
Exchanges made and offered 

MAIDEN 

Nay, sir, I 
Have only come 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 433 

LOVE [aside] 
That blush again. 

MAIDEN 

— to buy. 

LOVE 

[Good ! Look about you. Here are hearts a score] — 
Choose any one 

MAIDEN 

Think you I wanted more? 
One's almost too expensive. Mother prayed 



[love [aside] 
Venus! these mothers — how they help the trade?] 

MAIDEN 

— Prayed me — to — be content a year or two 
With none — or let her choose for me. 

LOVE 

Yet you 

MAIDEN 

I came alone, because I thought that she — 
That I — in fact, our tastes might not agree. 

LOVE 

Quite so. [In fact, when ancient ladies call 
I often find their tastes the worst of all 
And yet they're suited easily, but you — 
You youngsters puzzle me.] [Picking up a heart.] Will 
this one do? 

MAIDEN [reflecting] 
Um! yes; it's large, but then it seems so green. 



434 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

LOVE 

Yes, it is fresh, but then it's just nineteen 
And full of poetry. [Why, it could speak 
An hour about the dimples in your cheek. 
And then how pure it is ! — no spot, no stain] 



MAIDEN 

Uninteresting! Put it back again. 

LOVE [aside] 
[So that to girlhood is what boy love means? 
Ill put this by for someone beyond — teens.] 
Well, look at this one. 

MAIDEN 

Oh, but that's so small. 

[love 
And yet so heavy. Quick, don't let it fall! 

maiden] 
So small, yet heavy that I scarce can hold- — 



LOVE 

It's brimmed quite to the very top with gold. 
[No romance left; no touch of hope or fire, 
But hard, bright gold.] 

maiden 
[It's not what I desire,] 
The horrid, heavy thing, yet 

LOVE 

Be confessed. 
maiden 
I think mamma would have me like it best. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 435 

LOVE 

It's not for sale; left for an exchange. 

MAIDEN 

For what? 

LOVE 

A tender, maiden heart. 

MAIDEN 



How strange- 

LOVE 

Not strange at all — [exchange of pounds and pence 
For youth and purity and innocence. 
The thing's done every day.] 

MAIDEN 

But you — but you — ? 

LOVE 

Not strictly in my line, you mean. Quite true — 
A side branch of the trade, not really mine; 
It only bears my signature and sign, 
And they wear off. But see, will this one do? 

MAIDEN 

Why, Love, how can you? Look, it's broken through! 

LOVE 

Of course, of course; 3^et, if you really cared 
To have the thing, it^s easily repaired, 
[And no one^s wiser. Treat it thus and so, 
And in a month the crack will scarcely show. 

MAIDEN 

But still I'd know it. 



436 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 



LOVE 



True, but think what wit 
And cleverness you'd show in mending it.] 



MAIDEN 



Well, 111 consider that; but this one, seel 
So nicked and cracked 

LOVE 

Oh, handle carefully! 
It's fragile, but in good condition. 

MAIDEN 

True, 
Yet I prefer the one that's broken through 
To this one, with its horrid, hundred cracks. 

LOVE [aside] 

There spake the woman! This one, then; this lacks 
Nothing to make it what you most desire. 
A perfect article, complete, entire, 

MAIDEN 

But it looks shopworn. 

LOVE 

Well, the fact appears 
It's been for sale for something like ten years. 

MAIDEN 

Ugh! No, a thing like that would never do. 
I want a heart — that — others covet, too, 
[Now let me see — is not this one 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 437 

LOVE 

That's black 
In certain lights, and damaged. Put it back; 
It's not the thing you're looking for at all.] 
Now this one 

MAIDEN 

That's too cold. 

LOVE 

And this? 



Too small. 



Oh, oh! 



MAIDEN 
LOVE 

Well, really, I have nothing else to show. 
You might stop in to-morrow, say 

MAIDEN 

Look there 1 

LOVE 

Look where? 



MAIDEN 

Why, there, upon the shelf, — 
The very thing — I'll take it down myself — 
Indeed, the nicest one you have in store. 

LOVE 

That's not for sale. 

MAIDEN 

Oh, get it, I implore! 
I'll give you anything you ask — and more. 



438 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

LOVE 

It^s not for sale. I'm storing it, that's all, 
Until that day a certain maid shall call 
And claim it. 

MAIDEN 

Was't not I? 

LOVE 

No J no, my dear, 
The owner's last instructions were too clear. 

MAIDEN 

Alas, what were they? 

LOVE 

^'Take this heart, ^' he said, 
^^And put it by with hearts uncomforted. 
Show it to none, until a maid one day 
Comes searching for a heart she threw away. 
Then take this down, and if it be the same. 
Across and through it will be writ her name.'' 

MAIDEN 

AlaS; what more? 

LOVE 

He said, '^Her eyes are blue '! 

MAIDEN 

And mine are brown — but would not brown eyes do? 

LOVE 

He said, ^^Her hair is golden as the track 
Of sunshine on the sea." 

MAIDEN 

And mine is black. 
But she has never come? 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 439 

LOVE 

Not yet. 

MAIDEN 

Then oh, 
Give me the heart? I want it, want it so. 
Dear Love, give me the heart. 

LOVE 

I should not dare. 

MAIDEN 

She has forgotten it — she would not care. 
Give it to me 

LOVE 

It is not meant for you. 
Here are so many others — ^won^t they do? 
Take two or three 

MAIDEN 

I only want that one. 

LOVE 

Really, I^m sorry, but it can^t be done. 

MAIDEN [in tears] 
Please, Love, oh, please, oh, cruel 

LOVE 

No — no — no J 

MAIDEN 

You horrid, horrid, cruel thing! 1^11 go 

Straight home and tell my mother. What is more, 

I'll have that one! 



440 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

LOVE [solus] 

Whew! How she slammed the door 
And how she begged ! Poor child, she'll know some day 
The tricks Love plays to make the business pay. 
Why, bless me, look at this — a happy find ! 
Poor little soul, she's left her heart behind 
Instead of taking one away. Dear, dear, 
Give me the steps and let me store it here 
Close by the other — so, beneath the rose — 
And when she comes to-morrow — well, who knows? 



MORIAH'S MO'NIN'. 

Ruth McEnery Stuart. 



1\ /TORI AH was a widow of a month, and when she an- 
nounced her intention of marrying again, the plan- 
tation held its breath. Then it roared with laughter. 

Not because of the short period of her mourning was 
the news so incredible, but Moriah had put herself upon 
record as the most inconsolable of widows. After her 
husband Numa's funeral Moriah had rashly cast her every 
garment into the dye-pot, sparing not even so much as her 
underwear. 

Moriah was herself as black as a total eclipse, and when 
it became known that her black garb was not merely a 
thing of the surface, the plantation folks were profoundly 
impressed. 

*^ Moriah sho' does mo'n for Numa. She mo'ns f'om 
de skin out.'' Such was popular comment. 

And this woman it was who, after eight years of respect- 
able wifehood and but four weeks of mourning her lost 
mate, calmly announced that she was to be married again. 




'O Thou, Who changest not, abide with me." 




< 

LU 
LL 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 441 

The man of her choice was a neighbor whom she had 
always known, a widower whose bereavement was of three 
months^ longer standing than her own. 

The courtship must have been brief and to the point, 
for he and his fiancee had met but three times in the 
interval when the banns were published. 

He had been engaged to whitewash the kitchen in 
which she pursued her vocation as cook. 

The whitewashing was done in a single morning, but a 
second coating was found necessary, and it was said by 
one of her fellow-servants that while Pete was putting 
the finishing-touches to the bit of chimney back of her 
stove, Moriah, who stooped at the oven door beside him, 
basting a roast turkey, lifted up her stately head and said, 
archly, breaking her mourning record for the first time 
by a gleaming display of ivory and coral as she spoke : 

^^Who^d ^a^ thought you^d come into my kitchen ter do 
yo^ secon' co'tin^, Pete?" 

At which the whitewash brush fell from the delighted 
artisan^s hands, and in a shorter time than is consumed 
in the telling, a surprised and smiling man was sitting at 
her polished kitchen table chatting cosily with his mourn- 
ing hostess. 

It was discovered that the kitchen walls needed a third 
coating. This took an entire day, ^^ because, " so said 
Pete, ^^de third coat hit takes mo' time ter soak in.'' 

And then came the announcement. Moriah herself, 
apparently in nowise embarrassed, bore the news to us. 

^^Mis' Gladys," she said, simply, ^^I come ter give you 
notice dat I gwine take fo' days off, startin' nex' Sunday/' 

^^I hope you are not in any new trouble, Moriah?" I 
said, sympathetically. 

^^Well, I don' know ef I is or not. Me an' Pete Point- 
dexter, we done talked it over, an' we come ter de con- 



442 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

elusion ter marry. Dey ain't no onrespec' ter de dead, 
Mis' Gladys, in marryin'. De onrespec' is in de carryin's 
on folks does when dey marry. Pete an' me, we 'low 
ter have eve'ything quiet and solemncholy. De organ- 
player he gwine march us in chu'ch by de same march 
he played fur Numa's fun'al, an' look like dat in itse'f 
is enough ter show de world dat I ain't forgot Numa. 
An', tell de trufe, Mis' Gladys, ef Numa was ter rise up 
f'om his grave, I'd sen' Pete a-fiyin' so fast you could 
sen' eggs ter market on his coat-tail. 

*^ You see, de trouble is I done had my eye on Pete's 
chillen ever sence dey mammy died, an' ef dey ever was 
a set o' onery, low-down, sassy, no-' count little niggers 
dat need takin' in hand by a able-bodied step-mammy, 
dey awaitin' fur me right yonder in Pete's cabin. My 
hand has des nachelly itched ter take aholt o' dat crowd 
many a day — an' ever sence I buried Numa of co'se I see 
de way was open. An' des as soon as I felt like I could 
bring myse'f ter it, I — well — dey warn't no use losin' time, 
an' so I top you, missy, dat de kitchen need' white- 
washin'." 

^'And so you sent for him — and proposed to him, did 
you?" 

''P'opose ter who. Mis' Gladys? I'd see Pete in de 
sinkin' swamp 'fo' I'd p'p p'opose ter him!" 

^'Then how did you manage it, pray?" 

^^G'way, Mis' Gladys! Any wide-awake widder 'oman 
dat kin get a widder man whar he can't he'p but see her 
move round at her work fur two days hand-runnin', an' 
can't mesmerize him so' she'll ax her ter marry him — Um 
— hm!" 

''And so, Moriah, you are going to marry a man that 
you confess you don't care for, just for the sake of getting 
control of his children? I wouldn't have believed it of you/' 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 443 

^^Well — partly, missy. Partly on dat account, an' 
partly on his'n. Pete's wife Ca'line, she was a good 
'oman, but she was mighty puny an' peevish; an' besides 
dat, she was one o' deze heah niggers, an' Pete is alius had 
a purty hard pull, an' I lay out ter give him a better 
chance. Co'se I don't say I loves Pete, but I looks ter come 
roun' ter 'im in time. Ef I didn't, I wouldn't have him." 

'^And how about his loving you?" 

"Oh, Mis' Gladys, you is so searchin'! Co'se he say he 
loves me already better'n he love Ca'line, but of co'se a 
widder man he feels obleeged ter talk dat-a-way. An' 
ef he didn't have de manners ter say it, I wouldn't have 
him, ter save his life; but ef he meant it, I'd despise him. 
But of co'se. Mis' Gladys, I ca'culates ter outstrip Ca'line 
in co'se o' time. Ef I couldn't do dat — an' she in 'er 
grave — an' me a cook — I wouldn't count myself much." 

"Can I help you with your wedding-dress, Moriah?" 

"Bless yo' heart. Mis' Gladys, I ain't gwine out o' 
mo'nin'! I gwine marry Pete in des what I got on my 
back. I'll marry him, an' I'll take dem little no-'counts 
o' his'n, an' I'll make folks out'n 'em 'fo' I gits th'ough 
wid 'em, ef Gord spares me; but he nee'n't ter lay out ter 
come in 'twix' me an' my full year o' mo'nin' fur Numa. 
When I walks inter dat chu'ch, 'cep'n' fur de owange 
wreaf, which of co'se in a Christian ma'iage I'm boun' ter 
wear, folks '11 be a heap mo' 'minded o' Numa 'n dey will 
o' de bridegroom. An' dem chillen o' his'n, which ain't 
niver is had no proper mo'nin' fur dey mammy — I gwine 
put 'em in special secon' mo'nin', 'cordin' ter de time dey 
ought ter been wearin' it; an' when we walks up de island 
o' de chu'ch, dey got ter foller, two by two, keepin' time 
ter de fun'al march. 

I wished her joy, and bade her to be careful to make 
no mistake. 



444 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

"Missy, I don^t believe I gwine make no mistake. I 
been surveyin^ de landscape o'er tryin' ter think about 
eve^thing I can do ter start right. I'm a-startin' wid 
dem chillen, puttin' 'em in mo'nin' fur Ca'line. Den, fur 
Pete, I gwine ring de changes on Ca'hne's goodness tell 
he ax me, for Gord sake, ter stop, so, in years ter come, he 
won't have nothin' ter th'ow up ter me. An' you know 
de reason I done tooken fo' days off, missy? I gwine on a 
weddin'-trip down ter Pine Bluff, an' I wants time ter pick 
out a few little weddin'-presents to fetch home ter Pete." 

"Pete! Pete is going with you, of course?" 

"Pete gwine wid me? Who sesso? No, ma'am! 
Why, missy, how would it look fur me ter go a-skylarkin' 
roun' de country wid Pete — an' me in mo'nin'? 

" No, indeedy! I gwine leave Pete home ter take keer 
dem chillen, an' I done set him a good job o' whitewashin' 
ter do while I'm gone, too. De principles' weddin'-present 
I gwine fetch Pete is a fiddle. Po' Pete been wantin' a 
good fiddle all his life, an' he ain't niver is had one. But, 
of co'se, I don't 'low ter let him play on it tell de full year 
o' mo'nin' is out. No, ma'am!" 



THE MARSEILLAISE OF THE GREEKS. 



CONSTANTINE RhIGAS. 



1753-1798. 



/^HILDREN of heroic Greece, 

^^ Liberty flames in our eyes. 

If you would pay heed to its magic voice 

You must prove worthy of your sires. 

An implacable tyranny 

Dared to crush us beneath its law. 

But, O country of ours, we are ready 

To avenge thee. Arise! Arise! 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 445 

Sons of Greece, to arms; 
May our tyrants, overwhelmed, 
Mingle their blood with our tears, 
As it flows beneath our feet. 

Give new life to your illustrious ashes, 

O generous spirits of our heroes ! 

Leave your funereal homes, 

Shake off the dust of the tombs! 

Seek ye the City of Seven Hills, 

The city of old-time splendor! 

Arise boldly over the ruins, 

And, when I summon, go forth and conquer! 

Why slumber, Sparta, so illustrious, 
When the day dawns so brightly? 
Oh, raise high your queenly head 
And call Athens to your side ! 
Come, come, my brave fatherland, 
Gather the prizes of battles ; 
Break the chains which have blighted you! 
Remember Leonidas! 

Yonder, yonder at Thermopylae 

His war-cry has sounded ! 

In vain nimble troops of Persians 

Dash themselves against him ! 

With the utmost daring he defies them. 

Backed by the Three Hundred, he charges them. 

And, like a maddened lion. 

He scatters death through their ranks ! 

Sons of Greece, to arms ! 
May our tyrants, overwhelmed. 
Mingle their blood ^dth our tears. 
As it flows beneath our feet. 



446 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOR. 

BERYL'S HAPPY THOUGHT. 

A THANKSGIVING STORY. 



Blanche Willis Howard. 



T^HE Gardines and the Glyndons assembled in full 
force, and, arrayed in wedding garments, stood on 
the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concen- 
trating their attention upon two young people at a window 
of a parlor-car. 

"Be sure and not take cold, Beryl.'' 

"Write often, won't you?" 

"And, John, if you should happen to see Cousin Thomas, 
give him my love." 

"And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl." 

"And a kiss to dear little Charlie." 

"And remember to give my kindest regards to old 
Dr. Mason." 

"Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of 
your dressing-case." 

"Take care of yourself, old fellow." 

"And take good care of Beryl.". 

"And write often." 

"Don't take cold." 

And, above the whirling fragments, the voice of Aunt 
Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commanding as a 
war-trumpet, "Children, come home for Thanksgiving!" 

Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previously 
pronounced man and wife, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine 
Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a true Glyndon, now fairly 
off, gave one long look into each other's eyes, and broke 
into a hearty laugh. 

"If Aunt Susan only knew!" began Beryl, as soon as 
she could speak. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 447 

'^If any of them knew!'^ returned Jack. 

"Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day!^' 

"Thanksgiving is the family/' Jack chimed in. 

"And such a family!" 

"And when we consider/' reflected her husband, "that 
it's not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely 
affectionate interest Vv^hich has " 

"Watched over us, and followed us, and accompanied our 
goings-out and comings-in, and listened to every word we've 
spoken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyndons ". 

"And twenty-seven Gardines." 

"And suffocated us with sympathy so closely that 
w^e've never been really alone together until now." 

"I can't yet realize that we've escaped, and that some 
of them won't appear in a moment — Cousin Carry with 
her eternal cup-cake." 

"Or mamma with a shawl." 

"Or Harry wanting help with his algebra." 

"Or Aunt Susan simply and literally hanging round." 

"Yes, Beryl, she was the worst." 

"To think that even w^hen you first told me that you 
loved me, and we did suppose we were quite alone." 

"And it was just dusk, and you looked like an angel 
in your white dress." 

"And there we stood on the back piazza — and my 
heart was beating so fast!" 

"And I began to fear you hked Bob." 

"Oh, Jack! 5o6?" 

"And it was so still- " 

"When suddenly Aunt Susan coughed quite distinctly 
at the second-story window, and called out: ^Well, Beryl, 
don't dilly-dally. Speak up and say you'll have him, 
and then hurry in to tea, or the muffins will fall.' Oh, 
Jack!'! . 



448 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Everybody knew that this conspicuously bhssful young 
couple had tickets for Boston. Yet as the train went on, 
after a brief stop at a certain obscure little station, in 
the very middle of the car ^tood two empty chairs. The 
train steamed on and bore to Boston two ownerless trunks, 
each marked with a large G., but Mr. and Mrs. John 
Gardine, in a country chaise, fled through November 
twilight mists, their faces turned seaward. 

No seclusion could be more complete than that of the 
shooting-box in which Jack and Beryl sought refuge from 
the clamorous attentions of their friends. The small 
rough house stood on a bleak point, which, for all romantic 
purposes, sufficiently resembled the traditional desert 
island, being surrounded on three sides by wild waves, 
while its approach from land was at most seasons sub- 
merged enough to necessitate wading. Jack's deceased 
uncle had left him the key to this shooting-box, with some 
more valuable possessions, in his will. 

Pipes and card-tables, prehistoric cigar-stumps, and 
eloquent bits of broken wine-glasses met BeryPs glance 
of innocent surprise as she entered the first low, roughly 
plastered room. 

A stag's head raised its proud antlers over the door, 
and on a shelf perched a graduated row of owls, twelve 
in number. 

John had sent out fuel, as well as a huge supply of 
Albert biscuit, canned meats, fruits and vegetables, 
pickles and sardines. What more could two fond hearts, 
seeking a prolonged tete-a-tete, desire? 

For weeks Beryl had longed for this moment, but no 
lofty sentiment occurred to either of them, as John, breath- 
less and a little grimy, after having made the fires in the 
disused stoves, turned and embraced his bride. 

*' Alone — at last!" he exclaimed. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 449 

'^Yes/^ responded Beryl, ^^and how pleasant it is! 
Jack, how did your uncle look? Was he tall and terribly 
pale?" 

^^What a joke! He was rather short and stout, and 
awfully jolly/^ 

'^How he must have suffered T^ she murmured, pen- 
sively. ^^Jack, how long did he ever stay in this place 
alone at any one time?" 

^^Oh, I don^t know. Six weeks, perhaps. But he liked 
it.^^ 

^^Oh, Jack! is that gun loaded?" 

^^If it is, it won't go off. It's too damp.*'' 

^^Oh, don't go near it; it might burst. Oh, please 
don't trifle with it. Can't you take it up gently and throw 
it out of the window?" 

^^Why, Beryl, I didn't know you were afraid of a gun." 

''Every sensible person is afraid of a gun," she rejoined, 
with a touch of asperity born of fear. 

Jack looked wonderingly at her, and was silent. 

''Jack, if burglars should attack us!" 

"Burglars! Why, there isn't a burglar in the world 
mean enough to show himself in a hole like this." 

The sea sounded angry and threatening. The feeble 
lamp-flame was burning on one side of the wick, and strug- 
gling painfully for existence. Suddenly Beryl leaned for- 
ward. The next instant she was poised on a chair, tightly 
clutching her skirts and holding them high. 

"Oh, Jack! oh. Jack! oh. Jack!" she screamed. 

"For Heaven's sake. Beryl " 

"Oh, can't you see? Oh, Jack, it's a mouse! There!" 

He gave one glance at the corner indicated by her 
desperate gesture, another at her convulsive attitude, 
then broke into laughter. 

Beryl cast one exhaustive glance at the corner, sprang 



450 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

down, and bursting into tears, threw herself upon the 
sofa. 

They began their picnic hfe the next morning with 
much sprightHness. Getting breakfast presented certain 
difficulties, which they enjoyed. It rained hard, appar- 
ently '^setting in for a long November storm. ^^ 

After breakfast they seated themselves on the ascetic 
sofa, the long rainy day stretching on before them. Silence 
reigned in the cottage. 

^^You didn^t happen to put a pack of cards in your 
traveling-bag?" asked Jack presently. 

^^No, dear; certainly not.^^ 

'^Or a book?" 

'^No, Jack. Why, you don^t want to read, do you?" 

^^Not at all — not at all, my dear. I simply inquired.'' 

Beryl smiled brightly at him. He smiled brightly at 
her. Presently she Vv^alked across the room and searched 
her traveling-bag. 

^^What are you looking for?" 

'^Oh, nothing of any importance. I merely thought 
one of the girls might have dropped my lace-work in here.'' 

^^You surely don't want to sew to-day?" 

'^Certainly not, dearest Jack. I Vv^as only looking." 

Again they valiantly exchanged their smile of perfect 
satisfaction. 

The hours crept laboriously on, and this was but the 
beginning. 

Meanwhile all the Gardines and Glyndons were in a 
state of most painful agitation; for the two ownerless 
trunks had arrived in Boston, and been blankly gazed 
upon by Cousin Thomas and old Dr. Mason, each of whom, 
prevented from accepting the proffered Gardine and 
Glyndon hospitality, had hastened to the station, not to 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 451 

intrude upon the felicity of the young people — bless my 
soul! but merely to wish them good-speed. 

Cousin Thomas and old Dr. Mason looked for the con- 
ductor, but he had escaped. They gravely decided to 
drive to the hotel, where they found that rooms for the 
young couple had been duly ordered. The dove-cot w^as 
ready, but where were the doves? 

The old gentleman decided that it would be best to 
telegraph dow^n to Pineville. 

Before ten the next morning all the Gardines and Glyn- 
dons were fluttering to and fro, and the air was thick with 
ominous fancies. 

At noon a small Glyndon of a practical turn of mind 
suddenly inquired: ^^Papa, will they recover the bodies?^' 
At this ghastly picture BeryPs sisters burst into tears, 
and rushed frantically from the room. 

No thinking person outside of the afflicted families 
hesitated to call the disaster by its name. It was suicide — 
nothing less. And the Pineville Evening Bassoon devoted 
a column to it, with monumental headings and a forest of 
exclamation-points. They sold five extra editions of that 
paper, and the reporter's salary v\^as doubled the next day. 

It was raining steadily. 

The sixth day after Jack Gardine's wedding, as the 
train from Pineville to Boston stopped at a small way- 
station, two figures emerged from the gloom, and a man's 
voice applied in a subdued tone for a compartment, into 
which the figures quickly and quietly passed. 

No conscience-stricken runaway couple could have 
shunned the public gaze more completel}^ than this pair; 
but from the moment they boarded the car their spirits rose. 
They whispered, laughed, sympathized, and each found 
the other the cleverest and most entertaining of mortals. 



452 DELSAETE RECITATION BOOK, 

Blithe, eager, confidential, they steamed on to Boston. 
Then Jack, having shuffled Beryl as fast as possible into 
a carriage, went to give up his checks, and as the man 
who secured the tnmks knew no more of the great Pine- 
ville tragedy than did Jack himself, the pilgrims safely 
roLmcled this dangerous point. Jack decided that it would 
be wiser to choose instead a hotel never patronized by 
the Gardines and Ghaidons. 

"Now we are safe!'' he exclaimed, nibbing his hands 
gleefully, as the door closed behind the man who had 
shown them to their pleasant rooms. 

"Now we are at rest and happy,'' cried Bervd, ringing 
for a pitcher of ice-water. "Jack, suppose we go clown 
and have a nice hot supper in the dining-room, where it 
is very light and there are a great many people?" 

"And no canned things to ruin one's appetite!" 

"But we must change our toilets, for we both look 
as if we'd been through the wars. Those blessed tnmks! 
They'll be up directly, won't they?" 

Neither of them had observ^ecl the bell-boy's face. 

He now entered the room, a tray in one hand, a news- 
paper in the other. 

"Look-a-here. .\in't you them''" he demanded, plant- 
ing his index-finger on a certain spot of the paper. 

"Is the boy an idiot?" said Jack, seizing the paper. It 
was the PineviHe Evening Bassoon. 

"Beryl," he exclaimed, "read this!" 

"Oh, Jack, clear Jack, it is terrible! Let us hiUT\' home 
and beg them to forgive us." 

But Jack Gardine was in no melting mood. On the 
contrarv^, for the first time in his fife he was in a towering 
passion. 

"Confound the Bassoon^ s impudence! Am I not of 
age? Hasn't a man the right to go where he pleases 



DELSARTE RECITAriOX BOOK. 453 

on his wedding journey, and stay as long as he wishes? 
Boy, is there a reward offered for infonnation about 
us?" 

"There is." 

''If you'll hold yoiu* tongue and help us get off instantly 
to the Boston and Albany station, I'll double the reward, 
whatever it is, I'll start you in business. I'll be your 
friend." 

''"Oh, I'll help yer for nothin'/' said the enthusiastic 
boy. **I never was in anything of this sort before. I 
never knew any suiciders." 

"It seems to me,'' said Ben'l, "that we ought to tele- 
graph something to comfort them — something loving." 

''Nothing of the sort," returned Jack. He was in 
Chicago, and felt masterful. See; and he wrote: ''Want 
five hundred dollars. — Jack." 

"Why, you don't, do you?'' 

"Of coiu^e not, but father's acquainted with the style." 

"yMiile awaiting Judge Gardine's reply, the runaways 
arrayed themselves in channing costimies, and prepared 
to look the world in the eye. Jack chuckled when his 
father's answer came: 

''Have advised Bacon Brothers. Draw freely. Are you 
ill f What has happened ? " 

The following message was mimediately sent to tlie 
agitated parent: 

^'Certainly not. What should happen? B. and I never 
so well and happyj^ 

To which the good old judge replied, simply, ''God 
bless you, my children.^^ 

A brisk correspondence now took place between the 
young couple and the family. Judge Gardine ventured 
to inquire, in the most guarded and delicate manner. 



454 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK, 

if they had lost their trunks. Jack responded that if the 
family had the privilege of observing the effect produced 
by BeryFs bewitching toilets, they would entertain no 
doubts whether she were in possession of her wardrobe. At 
the same time he would like on his own account to protest 
against any further imputations of imbecility, and was at 
a loss to know why he should be followed on his wedding 
journey by hysterical telegrams and most unflattering 
doubts of his ability to take care of himself and his wife. 

^^I don't blame the boy/^ commented Judge Gardine — 
'^I don't blame him." 

'^I presume nothing could be more annoying than our 
attitude/' returned Dr. Glyndon, ^^as they have no sus- 
picion of its cause. This last letter of his demands a 
fall explanation.'^ 

Accordingly the judge broke the unpleasant news to 
his dear boy tenderly, almost as if he alone were at fault. 

When Jack's answer finally came, tears of proud affection 
moistened the old gentleman's eyes. Anything more 
high-toned than Jack's attitude could scarcely be imagined. 
He wrote briefly, but in a restrained manner begged one 
service of his father as the only reparation that could be 
made — silence, absolute and enduring silence, in regard 
to the wedding journey; for any innocent questions about 
their harmless Httle trip to Chicago would awaken in 
him and Beryl painful memories and suggestions of the 
odious crime imputed to them. 

All the Gardines and Glyndons now begged and implored 
Jack and Beryl to return for Thanksgiving; and they 
deigned to be appeased, and to arrive the eve of the great 
day. 

Had they been in reality raised from the dead, they 
could not have been welcomed with warmer demonstration. 

At the Thanksgiving dinner Jack made a speech the like 



DELS ARTE REGIT AA' ION BOOK, 455 

of which for warmth and eloquence was never heard in 
Pineville. If now and then his eyes twinkled with mischief 
when he glanced at Beryl, real feeling trembled in his 
voice as he lauded the time-honored customs and tra- 
ditions of the day. 

The Gardines and Glyndons were proud of him, and 
remembering all that had happened since the wedding, with 
tears and tender laughter they responded to Jack^s fer- 
vent ^^God bless Thanksgiving Day! God bless the family/^ 



BOY'S BEAR STORY. 



James Whitcomb Riley. 



^71 Py wunst they wuz a Little Boy went out 

In the woods to shoot a Bear. So, he w^ent out 
'Way in the grea'-big woods — he did — An^ he 
Wuz goin' along — an' goin' along, you know. 
An' purty soon he heerd somepin' go ^^Wooh!'' — 
1st that away — ^^ Woo-ooh!'' An' he wuz skeered, 
He wuz. An' so he runned an' climbed a tree — 
A grea'-big tree, he did, — a sicka-more tree. 
An' nen he heerd it ag'in: an' he looked round, 
An' 'twuz a Bear ! — a grea'-big shore-muff Bear — 
No; 'twuz two Bears, it wuz — two grea'-big Bears — 
One of 'em wuz — ist one's a grea'-big Bear. — 
An' they ist boff went ^^ Wooh!" — An' here they come 
To climb the tree an' git the Little Boy 
An' eat him up ! 

An' nen the Little Boy 
He 'uz skeered worse'n ever! An' here come 



466 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

The grea'-big Bear a'climbin^ th^ tree to git 
The Little Boy an^ eat him up — Oh, no ! — 
It 'uzn't the Big Bear 'at dumb the tree — 
It 'uz the Little Bear. Nen when 
He git wite closet to the Little Boy, w'y nen 
The Little Boy he ist pulled up his gun 
An' shot the Bear, he did, an' killed him dead! 
An' nen the Bear he failed clean on down out 
The tree — away clean to the ground, he did — 
An' lit wite side o' where the Big Bear's at. 

An' nen the Big Bear's awful mad, you bet i — 

'Cause — 'cause — 'cause the Big Bear 

He — ^he 'uz the Little Bear's Papa. — An' so here 

He come to climb the big old tree an' git 

The Little Boy an' eat him up ! An' when 

The Little Boy he saw the grea'-big Bear 

A-comin', he 'uz badder skeered, he wuz, 

Than any time ! An' so he think he'll climb 

Up higher — 'way up higher in the tree 

Than the old Bear kin climb, you know. — But he — 

He can't climb higher 'an the old Bear kin climb, — 

'Cause Bears kin climb up higher in the trees 

Than any Little Boys in all the Wo-r-r-ld ! 

The Little Boy he clumbed on higher, an' higher, 
An' higher up the tree — an' higher — an' higher — 
An' higher'n iss-here house is ! — An' here come 
Th' old Bear: — clos'ter to him all the time! — 
An' nen — first thing you know, — when th' old Bear 
Wuz wite clos't to him — ^nen the Little Boy 
Ist jabbed his gun wite in the old Bear's mouf 
An' shot an' killed him dead! — No; I forgot, — - 
He didn't shoot the grea'-big Bear at aU— 




"If rm a beggar born," she said, 

'1 will speak out, for I dare not lie/* 




SAINT CECILIA. 

Evermore to her rapt ear 
Celestial music came, and strains unknown 
To mortal sense amid the throng of life 
Hushed all the lower tones and noise of earth 
With heavenly harmonies. 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 457 

'Cause they 'uz no load in the gun, you know — * 
'Cause when he shot the Little Bear, w'y, nen, 
No load 'uz any more nen in the gun ! 

But th' Little Boy clumbed higher up, he did — 

He clumbed lots higher — tel he ist can't climb no higher, 

'Cause nen the limbs 'uz all so 'ittle, 'way 

Up in the teeny-weeny tip-top of 

The tree, they'd break down wiv him ef he don't 

Be keerful! So he stop an' think. An' nen 

He look around. An' here come th' old Bear! 

An' so the Little Boy make up his mind 

He's got to ist git out o' there some way! — 

'Cause here come the old Bear ! — so clos't, his bref s 

Purt 'nigh so's he kin feel how hot it is 

Aginst his bare feet — ist like old ^'Ring's" bref 

When he's ben out a-huntin' an's all tired; 

So when th' old Bear's so clos't — the Little Boy 

Ist give a grea'-big jump fer 'nother tree — 

No ! — no, he don't do that ! — I tell you what 

The Little Boy does : — Wy , nen — ^w^'y , he — Oh, yes — 

The Little Boy he finds a hole up there 

'At's in the tree — an' climbs in there an' hides — 

An' nen th' old Bear can't find the Little Boy 

At all! But, purty soon th' old Bear finds 

The Little Boy's gun 'at's up there — 'cause the gun 

It's too tall to be tooked wiv him in the hole. 

So, when the old Bear find' the gun, he knows 

The Little Boy's ist hid 'round somers there, — 

An' th' old Bear 'gins to snuff an' sniff around. 

Out where the Little Boy's hid at. — An' nen — nen — 

Oh, yes ! — W'y, purty soon the old Bear climbs 

'Way out on a big limb — a grea'-long limb, — 

An' nen the Little Boy climbs out the hole 



458 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

An' take^ his ax an' chops the hmb off ! . . . Nen 
The old Bear falls k-splunge ! clean to the ground 
An' bust an' kill hisse'f plum dead, he did ! 

An' nen the Little Boy he git his gun an' 'menced a-climbin' 

Down the tree again — 

No ! — no, he didn't git his gun — 'cause when 

The Bear failed, nen the gun failed, too — An' broked 

It all to pieces, too! — An' nicest gun! — 

His Pa ist buyed it ! — An' the Little Boy 

1st cried, he did; an' went on climbin' down 

The tree — when he 'uz purt'-nigh down, — ^w'y, nen, 

The old Bear he jumped up again! — an' he 

Ain't dead at all — ist 'tendin' thataway, 

So he kin git the Little Boy an' eat 

Him up ! But the Little Boy he 'uz too smart 

To climb clean down the tree. — An' the old Bear 

He can't climb up the tree no more — 'cause when 

He fell, he broke one of his — He broke all 

His legs I — an' nen he couldn't climb! — But he 

Ist won't go 'way an' let the Little Boy 

Come down out of the tree. An' the old Bear 

Ist growls 'round there, he does— ist growls an' goes 

''Wooh! — woo-ooh!" all the time! An' Little Boy 

He haf to stay up in the tree — all night — 

An' 'thout no supper neither! — Only they 

Wuz apples on the tree ! — An' the Little Boy 

Et apples — ist all night — an' cried — an' cried I 

Nen when 'tuz morning th' old Bear, oh! he's mad! — 

He ist tear up the ground! an' go ^^ Woo-ooh!" 

An' — Oh, yes ! — purty soon, when morning's come 

All light — so's you kin see, you know, — w'y, nen 

The old Bear finds the Little Boy's gun, you know, 

'At's on the ground. — (An' it ain't broke at all — 



DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 459 

I ist said that !) An' so the old Bear think 

He'll take the gun an' shoot the Little Boy — 

But Bears they don't know much 'bout shootin' guns; 

So when he go to shoot the Little Boy, 

It shot the Bear, it did — an' killed him dead ! 

An' nen the Little Boy dumb do^m the tree 

An' chopped his old woolly head off: — ^Yes, an' killed 

Boff the bears, he did — an' tuk 'em home 

An' cooked 'em, too, an' et 'em. 

— An' that's all. 



HIS NEW BROTHER. 

Joe Lincoln. 



CAY, I've got a little brother. 

Never teased to have him nuther, 

But he's here; 
They just went ahead and bought him, 
And, last week, the doctor brought him. 

Wa'n't that queer? 

Wh^n I heard the news from Molly, 
Why, I thought at first 'twas jolly, 

'Cause, you see, 
I s'posed I could go and .get him 
And then mamma, course, would let him 

Play with me. 

But when I had once looked at him, 
^^Why!" I says, ^^My sakes, is that him? 



460 DELS ARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

Just that mite!'' 
They said, ''Yes/' and, ''Ain't he cunnin'?" 
And I thought they must be funnin', — 

He's a sight ! 

He's so small, it's just amazin', 
And you'd think that he was blazin', 

He's so red; 
And his nose is like a berry, 
And he's bald as Uncle Jerry 

On his head. 

Why, he isn't worth a dollar! 
All he does is cry and holler 

More and more; 
Won't sit up, you can't arrange him,— 
/ don't see why pa don't change him 

At the store. 

Now we've got to dress and feed him, 
And we really didn't need him 

More'n a frog; 
Why'd they buy a baby brother 
When they know I'd good deal ruther 

Have a dog? 



THE GALLANT FRENCH SERPENT AND EVE. 

T E Monsieur Adam vake from hees nap une fine day, 

In ze beautiful gardaine and see 
Une belle demoiselle fast asleep, and he say, 
"Voila, la chance! here ees something zat may 
Be mooch interesting to me." 
/ 



DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK, 461 

Ven he open hees eye to adniire ze view, 

Viz her fan madame covaire her face. 
Zen monsieur to madame say : ^^ Bon jour; voulez vous, 
Go for une promenade? ^^ And zey valk out, ze two, 

In zat very mooch beautiful place. 

Vhere Monsieur le Serpent he sit in ze tree, 

Zey come, and ze ma'me she cry: 
"Oh, Monsieur le Serpent, voulez vous not have ze 
Bonte for to peek some fine apple for me?'^ 

"Certainement!''' ze Serpent reply. 

"Hold, hold, mon aixii!'^ zen Monsieur Adam speak, 

"Vat madness ees zis? Don't 3''ou know 
It ees wrong to eat from ze tree Aich 3^ou seek?'' 
But ze snake in ze branches ees pretty and sleek, 
And he smile on ze madame below. 

"Oh, Monsieur Adam! vat you say is not true, 

For do you not know^,'' say ze snake, 
"Dere ees notting vatevaire prohibited to 
Ze ladies? Madame, let me off aire to you 

Ze fruit.'' And ze madame she take. 

Une courtesy she make; zen ze Serpent he fill 

Her apron viz apples and say : . 
"^Monsieur Adam, eat of zis fruit, zin a^ou \T-11 
Be vise like un god; know ze good and ze ill; 

Ze tings of ze night and ze day. 

" But as for ze lady she nevaire could be — '^ 

Here ze snake make hees grandest salaam — 
"]\lore lak une \dse, beautiful goddess," say he 
(And smiling and bowing his sweetest), "zan she 
Ees now ! " And zat fineesh madame. 



462 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

HINTS FOR STATUE-POSES. 

NO prettier, more popular, and at the same time more 
aesthetically educational entertainment can be ar- 
ranged than a series of statue-poses modelled after classic 
works of art. The work, though in no way a part of the 
Delsarte System as formulated by Frangois Delsarte, is a 
natural outgrowth of a study of its principles, both as exem- 
plified in existing historic art-works and as applied to the 
living human form. Taken in this sense, statue-poses are 
appropriately included in any work treating on the Delsarte 
System. It is, however, a misnomer to call an}^thing of 
the sort " Delsarte." 

Some of the photographs scattered through this book 
are taken directly from the original classic works of art. 
They have been selected from the numerous statue-poses 
given by Delsartiaus as being among the most effective and 
graceful of these plastic pictures. 

To properly give statue-poses, the auditorium should be 
darkened, and the stage lighted by a strong calcium light, 
white or colored. A background of drapery, either black 
or dark red, brings out the pose to best advantage. No 
stage-setting or furniture, except pedestals when necessary, 
is advisable. 

The; costume for these poses is a loose Greek robe, one 
that shows the curves of the form without in any way 
constricting its movements. A beautiful and historically 
correct dress, with illustrations, is described in Werner^s 
MagazineioYM^j,l^^'d>,^ Drapery around the legs should 
be avoided. The only underskirt permissible is one of 
cheese-cloth. Cream-colored cheese-cloth, while inexpen- 
sive, is at the same time quite as pretty and lends itself 
quite as readily to statuesque effects as heavier or more 
costly material. A white wig maybe worn, if desired; but 

* Sent for 25 cents. 



DELS A RTF RECITATION BOOK. 463 

the natural hair, arranged in a loose knot at the back of 
the head and powdered thickly with cornstarch, is quite as 
effective. 

The five different poses of the Niobe may be given singly 
or all together in a group. 

In cases like Hebe, Melpomene, Ganymede, and others, 
where vases, jars, discs, flowers and other accessories are 
used to round out the original art-work as a picture, these 
accessories need not, and generally do not, aj)pear in the 
poses as given by the human form. But the arms and all 
the parts of the body are to be posed exactly as if actually 
holding the article. If desired, the jar, flower, or what- 
ever is in the picture, may be included in the pose. This, 
however, interferes with the passing from one pose to 
another in quick succession. The poses will then have to 
be given as a series of classic tableaux, the groups being 
arranged each time before the curtain is raised. Without 
the accessories, the poses may merge into one another in 
full view of the audience, care being taken to make the 
transitions without losing in any degree a perfect and har- 
monious poise of the body, and with graceful, sinuous 
curves of the body and limbs. This is very difficult to do 
well, requiring much practice and a perfect control of all 
the muscles. N"o trace of effort should be apparent either 
in the transition from one pose to another or in holding 
the pose. But the result is well worth the effort, not only 
because of the increased beauty of the scene, but also 
because of the muscular benefit to the performer. Of 
course the face should be in harmony with each pose. 
This may seem unnecessary to say ; but the frequent mean- 
ingless expression — if anything meaningless may be called 
expression — =of the face in poseurs calls for a word of 
warning. 

An idea that is new and has been successfully tried is the 



464 DELSARTE RECITATION BOOK. 

giving of a series of poses based wholly on athletic subjects. 
Sculpture is full of such themes. The following statues, 
partly of single figures and partly of groups, are excellent 
examples : 

Combat between a Greek and a Centaur. 

Centaur Overpowering a Greek. 

Dying Gladiator. 

The Pugilists. 

Discobolus. 

Laocoon. 

Wrestlers. 

Diana Shooting vv^ith Bow. 

Combat between Hercules and Warrior, 

Boxers Nos. 1 and 2. 

Borghese Gladiator. 
These are particularly interesting, inasmuch as they are 
specially suited for young men, who, hitherto, have been 
allowed no place in statue-posing. To produce the greatest 
effect, nothing but a complete suit of tights should be 
worn, and a short curly white wig. The result is beautiful. 









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